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IT IS THE FASHION. 


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IT IS THE FASHION. 


the C3-EIL3yE-A.lSr 

OF 

ADELHEID VON AUER. 

. <S^V^o.v^ot^c feroto 

ii 

BY THE TRANSLATOR 

OF 

•‘OVER YONDER,” “MAGDALENA,” “THE OLD COUNTESS,’ ETC. 


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PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1879. 


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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
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In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


W iXCHAKIg 


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IT IS THE FASHION 


INTRODUCTION. 

The winter sun shone cheerily into the Count of 
Diisterloh’s study, and gilded the towers which lent 
to his castle the appearance of a feudal stronghold. 
The old man was leaning back comfortably in his 
arm-chair; his fresh complexion, and the bright 
eyes resting with evident interest on the pages of the 
book in his hand, seemed almost incompatible with 
the silver hair, that spoke of many departed years, 
and of a longer winter than that which spread its 
snowy mantle over the fields and woods. Unfortu- 
nately, there were other signs of advancing age, — 
signs that told of enfeebled powers. The old man's 
feet were carefully /inveloped, and rested upon a soft 
cushion ; and the crutch-stick leaning against his 
arm-chair showed that their support was not to be 
depended upon. Everything was arranged with evi- 
dent regard to this infirmity. All that could serve to 
amuse a lonely hour, or to make it pass more swiftly, 
was placed within his reach. A table covered with 
books and charts, and another with writing-materials, 
stood beside him. The fire, always in itself an inter- 
esting, as well as a cheerful, object, was within reach, 

( 5 ) 


6 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


and close at hand stood a wood-basket, containing 
sufficient fuel to bid defiance to the most sunless day 
of winter; and, finally, just at the Count’s side was the 
bell-rope, to summon, should he so desire, the servants 
waiting in the ante-room. He was, however, so ab- 
sorbed in his book that he seemed to have forgotten 
everything else ; the fire was rapidly dying out, and 
he at last mechanically felt for the poker to stir it to 
a flame, but grasped his crutch-stick instead, and was 
only conscious of the mistake when the sound of a 
carriage stopping before the door recalled his atten- 
tion to the outer world. He rang, and a servant 
appeared. 

‘‘ Who was that ?” he asked. 

“ Fraulein Hildegard,” was the reply. 

The old man’s face brightened. 

‘‘ Ask her to come at once to me ; and then order 
coffee,” he said. 

He raised himself with difficulty, and, supported by 
the stick, was hastening to welcome the new-comer, 
when she appeared in the door-way, and, without 
stopping to remove her wrappings, forced him back 
to his seat with gentle violence. 

‘‘ That is contrary to our agreement,” she said, re- 
proachfully. ‘‘ I am to come and go when and how 
I will, and you are to notice me no more than the air 
which steals through your open door ” 

‘‘ No, that is not the way,” interrupted the Count. 
“ Against the winter wind I would close the door ; 
but the gentle breath of spring,” he added, with 
a courtly gallantry that became him well, "'that I 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


7 

welcome! Welcome, then, Fraulein Hildegard, to 
the cloister of the recluse.” 

The lady placed her hand in the one extended to 
her, laughing, as she did so, at the compliment. 

A fine representative I am of the ‘ gentle breath 
of spring’ !” she said. ‘‘ Look, I have one wrapping 
on over another, like a bulbous root, — but not a 
flower-bulb — for I don’t know to what class of flowers 
a poor crooked old maid can belong. No, no I I 
have done!’' she cried, hastily, in answer to the 
Count’s half-pitying, half-disapproving glance. ‘‘ I 
know that you always enter the lists for me, and I dare 
not, in your presence, add to my thirty years the ten 
more that I consider my hump-back equivalent to. 
When you are by, I always speak of it as ‘ my little 
affliction.’ Indeed, the years are past long ago in 
which it used to be a great affliction to me.” 

So she chattered on gayly, as she removed her 
wrappings, and at last, drawing a chair towards the 
fire, sat down. 

‘‘ It is always so nice and comfortable here,” she 
said, rubbing her hands. I want to try to arrange 
my home — though it will not be on quite so grand a 
scale — after your pattern.” 

He looked at her anxiously. 

''You have decided, then?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she answered. “I took your advice, and 
did not do so in the first burst of excitement and 
without adequate thought. I took six months to 
think it over, and noW;, after due consideration, I have 
decided.” 


IT IS THE FASHIOH 




< ‘‘ On what?'* he asked. 

“ On being my own mistress," she replied, quickly. 
' So you too are seized with the modern emanci- 
pation-fever !” he answered. “ Well, you only follow 
the prevailing fashion." 

“ I concern myself little enough as to what is fash- 
ionable or unfashionable," she said, “ and never did 
pay any attention to such things, even when I lived 
in closer connection with the world. I follow natural 
impulses; and, if you think over my past, you will 
understand my longings for a free will, for independ- 
ent action, and for an untrammeled life ; now that I 
am at last at liberty to gratify my long-suppressed 
wishes, I feel, for the first time, how powerful they 
have become." 

She ceased. The Count, too, was silent, and gazed 
thoughtfully on the face over which the shadows of 
the past and the light of newly-awakened hopes of a 
brighter future chased each other in rapid alternation. 
The face was not young, nor fair, and yet it was well 
worthy of contemplation. The refined features and 
speaking expression attracted the observer in spite of 
himself. The eyes were of a lovely light-brown color, 
and their clear, open gaze told of the mind’s firm 
mastery over a sensitive, passionate nature. The 
rather delicate look, an almost invariable accompani- 
ment of any bodily deformity, in this case imparted 
rather a touching than a painful expression, and van- 
ished entirely when, as was often the case, the lips 
parted in a sunny smile. It was only necessary to 
see that smile to feel sure that through all the vicis- 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


9 


situdes of life Hildegard would remain cheerful and 
contented, and would not be very deeply wounded by 
any satirical spirits that happened to cross her path. 
She was tall and slender, and of noble bearing ; and 
through the numerous wrappings which concealed 
rather than defined her figure, one rather guessed than 
perceived its irregularity. At last the Count spoke. 

“ It really pains me to hear you speak so lightly of 
your He stopped short. 

Deformity,” supplied Hildegard. 

Of your undeserved misfortune,” continued the 
Count, earnestly. 

‘‘You suppose that the light manner is assumed 
to conceal real sensitiveness ?” she interrupted. “ That 
is not the case, I assure you. It is rather a sort of 
resentment against fate. There are so many straight 
backs in the world; — why should mine have been 
made crooked ? I often ask myself this, but it is such 
an absurd question that I laugh at myself for it a 
moment afterwards. So you see I am thoroughly 
accustomed to be ridiculed. It should not pain 
others, for it does not pain me ; but I must confess 
that I never could understand my late uncle's idea, — 
that it was given me as a shield against vanity. 
However, it makes little difference how I came by it. 
I have it ; that is enough. I shall know all about it 
one day, — just as I suppose my uncle knows now 
why he had such a red nose ; though I think he could 
have found out the cause of thaty even in this world. 
Well, it has been ten long years since he went to his 
rest! Peace to his ashes, and honor to his moral 

A* 


lO 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


axioms, although he never proved his rules by 
example.” 

The servant brought in coffee ; Hildegard prepared 
it for the old gentleman, and handed it to him. 

“ It is the last time,” she said; and her voice trem- 
bled. 

He looked up, startled at her words. 

‘‘ The time has expired ; and the house, sold after 
the death of my aunt, in accordance with my uncle's 
will, must now be resigned to its new owner ; I can 
remain there no longer. This sale is an example of 
the arbitrariness which has tainted my whole life. I 
am the heiress. Why not allow me to dispose of my 
own property? What difference could it make to 
my uncle whether I had the land itself, or the money 
for it ? This earth seems more of a home when we 
possess a portion of it, no matter how small. I should 
not have lived there, probably, but it would have been 
mine, nevertheless, and I might have kept it as an 
asylum for my old age.” 

‘‘And whither are you going now?” asked the 
Count. 

“ To the capital,” replied Hildegard. 

“ So far away?” said the old man, with a sigh. “I 
was in hopes you would remain at least in the 
vicinity, and continue to cheer up your old friend, 
who gets the blues here all by himself” 

“You won't get the blues,” said Hildegard, re- 
assuringly. 

“ No ; but the blues will get me,” jested the Count: 
“they circle around me often in gloomy swarms. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


II 


darkening the air and obscuring the blessed sun- 
shine,” 

“ Where do they come from ?” asked Hildegard. 

“ Generally from the past,” answered the Count. 

They whisper to me of what is gone, but not for- 
gotten. Your presence is the mightiest spell against 
their dark enchantments; your bright eyes, your glad 
voice, your cheerful manner, drive away the sadden- 
ing memories ; but to hear you speak in that mock- 
ing way of your affliction strikes upon me like a keen 
sword upon an open wound.” 

Hildegard was amazed at the deep earnestness of 
his manner. 

Have you never been told the cause of your mis- 
fortune ?” continued the Count. 

Oh, yes,” she replied ; ‘‘ but it made little im- 
pression upon me. It was not the poor man’s fault. 
He was only playing with me, and was riding me 
on his shoulder. I must have been a bold child for 
my age, — only three years old, — for I rode my self- 
constituted steed with whip and spur. If I proved 
stronger than he anticipated, and, slipping from his 
arms, fell and dislocated my shoulder, it was his fault 
as little as it was mine. I believe in predestination 
in such things. God had intended me to be crook- 
backed ; and the decree does not seem to me nearly 
so hard on the actual sufferer as on the guiltless 
instrument.” 

‘‘Hildegard,” said the Count, “it was I; — I was 
the man.” 

Astonishment rendered her silent. 


12 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


'' I met with your parents while on a journey,” he 
continued. ‘'We were not at first acquainted, but, 
meeting frequently, at last made friends, and often 
congratulated ourselves on having done so. Your 
parents were a noble pair ” 

Hildegard’s eyes glistened. 

“ Your father of brilliant mind, and your mother 
the picture of happiness, they seemed two of For- 
tune’s prime favorites. They had been visiting rela- 
tives, and were returning home with you, Hildegard, 
the brightest, most amusing, and most irrepressible 
child I ever saw. Through you, as often happens, 
our acquaintance began. In winning the children’s 
hearts, we often win those of the parents. I wish I 
had never seen you, Hildegard; but from the moment 
I met you, years ago, for the first time since that 
terrible day, I have felt as though I never ought to 
let you go out of my sight again.” 

‘‘And so it was all on account of my hump-back, 
when I was ascribing it solely to my own charms ?” 

“ Is that all you say when I tell you that I was the 
cause of your misfortune?” 

“ Not all ; I am not unfortunate, and never was, 
that I can remember; for the greatest misfortune of 
all — the loss of my parents — came upon me at so 
early an age that the pain was only a momentary 
one, a sort of half-comprehended terror. What 
my loss had been I understood better, later; but 
then the bond was loosed, the agony over, and two 
saint-like images were enshrined in my soul; to 
them I fled for refuge when the world seemed dark 


IT IS THE FASHION. 




and cruel. The memory of my parents is to me a 
star. That star is in the heaven above me ; I cannot 
possess it upon earth, but I know that its tender light 
falls upon my path, that no earthly stain can sully 
its purity, and that one day I, too, will rise to those 
heavenly heights.” 

The old man took her hand in deep emotion. 

‘‘ Then you forgive me ?” he asked. 

My kind, good friend,” she cried, eagerly, ‘‘ I 
have almost a tender feeling for ‘ my little misfor- 
tune,’ now that I know its cause ; but it really will 
grow a heavy burden if you look at me with such 
sorrowful eyes. As far back as I can remember, my 
parents always spoke of my mishap as a decree of 
Heaven. Later, I learned how I had received it, 
from my old Caroline ; but even she did not know 
your name. She came into our service after the 
accident, and had never heard the name of its author. 
Let the story be buried with my parents. If that be 
one of your ‘ sad remembrances,’ pray throw it into 
the fire the next time it comes to annoy you. It 
deserves no better fate. I think, though, that it is 
rather the gout that is the true cause of your troubles, 
my dear, kind friend; we are so unwilling to ac- 
knowledge physical suffering, and so gladly persuade 
ourselves that it is mental.” 

When do you leave ?” asked the Count, absently. 

‘‘ To-day,” she replied. ‘‘My baggage is gone al- 
ready. Herr von Z , who purchased the house, 

was kind enough to lend me his carriage to convey 
me to the next town; thence, I go by extra post 


14 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


to C , remain there overnight, and early next 

morning take the first train for the capital. Caroline 
is already there, arranging my apartments. You see 
that I have every prospect for a comfortable journey, 
and, besides, will probably be very pleasantly situated, 
as I have already made arrangements to share the 
home of a family there. A President von Loben ’* 

‘‘Von Loben?” interrupted the Count. 

“ Yes ; do you know him ?” 

“ No ; there are many of the name.” 

“ Well,” continued she, “ President von Loben, who, 
with his family, occupies the first floor of a delightful 
house in a central situation, is anxious to dispose of 
some of his superfluous rooms. I read the adver- 
tisement, commenced a correspondence with Frau 
von Loben, who seems a very intelligent and pleasant 
woman, and we soon arranged the terms. I am to 
have two rooms, a sleeping-cabinet, and a chamber 
for my servant, on the same floor with my hostess. 
Will not I be delightfully situated ?” 

“ And then ?” asked the Count. 

“ Yes, and then ! I must wait and see what comes 
then. I have provided myself with a home, and with 
one that seems to offer me every prospect of happi- 
ness. The rest I leave to fate.” 

The Count shook his head. “ It is a bold under- 
taking,” he said, “to go — a single woman — into a 
large, strange city, with no one to advise you, help 
you, or smooth your path.” 

“ That is precisely what I wish : I want to be my- 
self, and not the mere reflection of another. I want 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


15 


to tread my own road, and not follow in the foot- 
prints of others. Think of my past life, and you will 
find this only natural.’' 

‘‘Truly, you have had a hard life,” he answered. 
“ It must have been a heavy trial to pass so many 
years at the bedside of a sick old woman, — fretful, 
suffering, and incapable of any consideration for 
others. Had I not remembered this, I would have 
begged you to accept a home here with me; but 
then you would only have exchanged one hospital 
for another, and I was not selfish enough to make 
the offer.” 

“ It was not that,” replied Hildegard, thanking 
the Count with a grateful look. “Those were far 
from being my bitterest hours ; for it was a duty to 
which love and gratitude both called me. But my 
whole life long I have been doomed to submission ; 
whereas I am conscious of a strong and decided 
will of my own. I was never allowed to do as I 
wished, nor to learn what I had natural talent for ; 
my tastes were never consulted, my opinions never 
regarded. Did my heart draw me to the right, I was 
sure to be forced towards the left; did I long for 
light, it was extinguished before my very eyes ; did 
I want to wear green, blue was at once put on me ; 
did I especially love any one, and long for his or her 
society, I was forced into association with another: 
mentally and bodily I was kept in thraldom. For 
years I had to endure the unnecessary suffering of 
an orthopedic establishment (my relatives meant it 
kindly, no doubt, though my parents, I am sure, 


i6 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


would never have sent me there), and I grew none 
the straighter for it. When I left there, it was only 
exchanging a physical stretcher for a mental one, and 
it is a blessing that I was not rendered a moral cripple 
thereby. I was handed about, as it were, from one 
relative to another. When I look back on it all, it 
seems to me as though Fate had amused herself by 
tossing me, like a football, from this one to that one . 
The opinions, habits, and wishes of each new family 
were different from those of the last, and each strove 
to make me conform to their ov/n particular ideas. I 
know that I can obey, and can accommodate myself to 
the wills of others. I have done it all my life. Now I 
will see how it feels to have my own way. They all 
told me that this restraint was for my good ; that I 
never could appreciate. Now I will seek happiness 
after my own fashion, and I will see if it is not better 
to let it come to me of its own accord, than to be 
dragged to it by leading-strings. You know when 
we go from tailor to tailor, and none can suit us, we 
end by making the garment ourselves 

‘‘ And often end by adopting that which is totally 
unbecoming,” interrupted the Count, quickly. 

Unbecoming ?’■ she repeated. ‘‘ Do you see any- 
thing unbecoming in my intentions ?” 

No, indeed ! I place you entirely beyond the 
usual pale of conventionalities. You are neither so 
young nor so inexperienced as to require a com- 
panion or a counselor; but you are unused to a lonely 
home.” 

‘‘ Can I be more lonely than I was by the sick-bed 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


17 


of my aunt ? I have long been accustomed to loneli- 
ness and bondage, so now I will try loneliness and 
freedom. You are lonely yourself, for that matter,'* 
she continued, pointing to the table covered with 
books ; ‘‘ but do you feel solitary or deserted ?” 

‘‘ I am a man," he replied. ‘‘A woman's happiness 
consists of far different elements. But I am a fool 
to wish to dissuade you. When I look into your 
clear, truthful eyes, and think over your past life, I 
feel sure that you will come to a right conclusion, 
even though you reach it by a circuitous route; 
your nature is too noble a one for you ever to live 
solely for yourself. Do not take the life of an old 
bachelor, who has unconsciously grown to do so, for 
your pattern." 

‘"You live for your inferiors," said Hildegard, 
somewhat struck by his words. "‘And you have 
lived for your country." 

“ I have lived for many things outside my own 
home," interrupted the Count, “ but when there I 
am solitary, and live only to and for myself." 

Hildegard sat silent, as if weighing his words. 

“ But what else can I do ?" she at last exclaimed. 
“ I can make myself no other home, predestined as 
I am to a lonely pilgrimage through life. I cannot," 
she pursued, jestingly, noticing the sudden cloud on 
the face of her old friend, — “ I cannot go and choose a 
husband from among the young men of the surround- 
ing country ; and if one chose could only say, 
" My dear friend, you are certainly either blind or crazy, 
and I must respectfully decline.' What, then, is a 


2 


i8 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


poor, lonely woman to do, except to seize gratefully 
such selfish pleasures as remain to her? No, don’t 
answer. All my life, I have seen more preaching 
than practicing, and I find, in this case, the same fault 
with you. Why are you unmarried ? A man can 
take the initiative, and has the right of siege, denied 
us women; and you, — a high-born, rich, and re- 
spected young man, and, unless age flatters you, 
certainly a very handsome one, — you seem to have 
been destined to victory by nature and by fate. Then 
why are you unmarried?” 

“ Because, although I had the right of siege, as you 
call it, that siege was unsuccessful, — at least when 
the victory was of any value to me,” replied the 
Count, sadly, ‘‘ and because I had an enemy who, by 
intrigue and subtlety, glided through byways to the 
goal, and, finally, because, looking back in the light 
of calmer thought, I see that I was too romantic. I 
could not forget my first love, or make that in which 
the voice of the heart should be supreme, an affair of 
cold worldly calculation. That is why I am an old 
bachelor, why I shall die as I have lived, — alone. 
When I am gone, strangers will enjoy the fruit of my 
labors, without a thought of thankful remembrance 
for him who wasted his whole existence, and threw 
away life’s sweetest happiness, only to make richer 
ungrateful heirs. That is the curse of the solitary, 
and that curse has fallen on me. Don’t look so 
sorrowful, my child; yon see I bear my lot resignedly. 
I don’t think you ever saw me gloomy or depressed. 
Truly, the shadow on my soul grows darker as my 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


19 


sun sinks towards the west. Very few warm, bright 
rays fall now into my home, and of those few you 
will bear away the brightest with you. But I do not 
blame you, for you are still mounting upwards, whilst 
I am fast going down-hill.” 

“ Have you no near relations ?” asked Hildegard, 
sympathizingly. 

“ No,” he answered, briefly. 

Had you no brothers nor sisters ?” 

“ I had one sister, but she died long ago,” he an- 
swered, in a somewhat constrained manner. When 
I die, a smiling heir will stand beside my coffin. If 
Diisterloh were not entailed, and the disposition of it 
lay in my own hands, I should be tempted to pass 
over my relations and let the rights of true friendship 
take precedence of those of mere blood. It would 
be a sort of compensation for the misfortune I inno- 
cently caused you, if I could make you mistress of 
Diisterloh.” 

‘‘Thank Heaven that it cannot be so!” she cried; 
“that would be too heavy a responsibility for a 
woman’s weak shoulders.” 

“You are right,” he answered. “You are in the 
happy position of having sufficient. More than that 
brings care rather than pleasure. I find your feelings 
only natural. So we must have the laughing heirs, 
after all.” 

“ But I hope that both you and I will laugh for 
many a long year before their turn comes,” said 
Hildegard; “and when we have done, they will be 
welcome to their inheritance without the shadow of 


20 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


bereavement. I shall claim that as my right ; and 
among the loving hearts that cherish your memory, 
mine will not be wanting.” 

She spoke heartily, but without a trace of senti- 
mentality. She had struck the right chord, for the 
Count’s face cleared, and its usual cheerful, un- 
troubled expression returned. An hour passed in 
pleasant conversation. When the carriage drove up, 
they both became grave, it is true, but there was 
none of that tearful sadness which robs the spirit of 
all elasticity and prevents us from looking past the 
sorrowful parting to the joyful reunion. 

*‘Will you do me one favor?” said the Count 
Will you write to me ?” 

She nodded, assentingly. 

“ No beautifully-composed, graceful epistles, re- 
member, but an honest record of your thoughts as 
they arise.” 

Certainly; but suppose I naturally write a 'beau- 
tifully-composed, graceful epistle’? How then ?” 

" Whatever is natural to you, that do,” he replied, 
laughing, " and I will promise to be satisfied. Only, 
remember that your letters are to supply your place. 
I want to be able to fancy myself once more with 
you.” 

"I will do it; though it would flatter me more 
to think that my place could not be supplied,” she 
answered. 

" And you will not ask me to write to you in re- 
turn ?” he said. " I could tell you little, though, 
except that I still live ; how I live you know,— there 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


21 


will be nothing in that to tell. So, till you hear of 
my death, believe that I am still alive, and, till you 
find better friends, look upon me as your best/' 

“ I wish no better one," she answered, heartily, 
“ and will- gladly give you my full confidence. So I 
will write, as you wish, and tell you all I do, and all 
I think, without caring whether it be wise or foolish." 

“Agreed!" said the Count, grasping her hand. 
“ And now. Heaven guard and guide you through all 
the crooked paths of this troublesome world ! Will 
you be rightly understood, I wonder ?" he continued, 
looking deeply into her eyes. “ You leave your soli- 
tude and seek a crowd ; see that you be not rudely 
jostled." 

“ Oh, I will jostle in return," she answered. 

“ Do not think everybody as honest as yourself," 
continued the Count. “ Be careful in the expression 
of your opinions : of one hundred people, ninety-nine 
are unwilling to hear the truth, and the hundredth 
wishes it dressed up carefully. Don’t jest before 
those that cannot understand you, — it would be wil- 
fully slandering your own noble nature ; be not de- 
ceived by sudden professions of friendship ; in this 
world, the new " 

“ Stop I stop !" cried Hildegard. “ I beg ten thou 
sand pardons, my beloved friend, but there come the 
old leading-strings back again 1 Let me seek foi 
myself, if there be anything to find, and I be not too 
dull to find it. Thank you, many times, for your 
fatherly advice, but I am such an old child now that 
I can learn nothing by word of mouth, — I must have 


22 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


the book and see for myself. That seems being very 
rude, doesn’t it? — one of the things you warned me 
against; for in this world sound is everything. My 
dear Count, when old friends misunderstand me, it 
goes to my heart, but being misunderstood by other 
people is a matter of perfect indifference to me. And 
now, good-by ! till we meet again, — happily and 
soon.” 

The servant stood by with her furred mantle ; she 
put it on, refusing the Count’s assistance. 

Before you hand Fraulein Hildegard to the 
carriage, move my chair to the window,” said he 
to the attendant. It was done ; another ‘‘ farewell,” 
— a last greeting, — and she quitted the room. A 
moment afterwards, the carriage rolled away. The 
Count, from his window, followed it with his eyes 
until a turn in the road made it disappear. Then, 
leaning back, he covered his eyes with his hand, al- 
though the sun was low in the horizon, and clouds 
obscured its beams. 


FIRST LETTER. 


HILDEGARD VON SCHONERBRUNN TO COUNT DUS- 
TERLOH. 

Here I sit in my new home, my mind filled with 
a thousand fresh thoughts and impressions, but I am 
nevertheless at heart the same old Hildegard, and, 
wandering back in spirit to the old home, almost for- 
get the new one, of which I have promised to tell 
you. First, though, about my journey. Until I came 
to the depot, I did not appreciate my loneliness; but 
suddenly, in the wearying crowd, — the motley assem- 
blage, — it came upon me with overpowering force. 
Ladies without escorts are especially dependent on 
their good luck, and on the courtesy of their fellow- 
travelers. I was spared the numerous bundles and 
the deafening chatter of the ladies’ car,” for a uni- 
versal cry greeted me as I opened the door: 

“ Another person ! and we are so crowded already! 
There’s not room for one more! Well, we’ll have 
to move closer together.” 

Seeing that I was expected to clamber over the 
mass of crinoline into the farthest corner of the car, 
I expressed, by a silent bow, my recognition of the 
occupants’ politeness, and then, turning to the guard, 
gained his good will by a few kindly words and a 
more substantial argument. He led me to another 

(23) 


24 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


car, in which were seated two gentlemen, or rather one 
gentleman and one youth of about sixteen. The latter 
sat just before the entrance, and had his feet on the op- 
posite seat, and a traveling-shawl spread over his knees. 

“This is not the ladies' car!" he exclaimed, on 
seeing me. I silently acknowledged the fact, and 
put my foot on the first step, while the guard ex- 
plained that the ladies' car was full. 

“Smoking is allowed here!" he cried to me again. 

“ And gymnastics, too ?" I asked, glancing at his 
legs, which he kept extended like a barrier before 
the door, and over which I would have been com- 
pelled to jump in order to enter the coach. 

“Joachim!" said the other young man, in a low 
voice, but with emphasis, looking reprovingly at the 
lad. The latter flushed, shook his beautiful curls, 
and moved his feet. I entered, and sat down in the 
farthest corner, gave a quick glance at my traveling- 
companions, and drew my own conclusions. Un- 
doubtedly they were brothers. The elder was about 
twenty-three or twenty-four years old. His face was 
a pleasant and an attractive one, although there was 
nothing particularly striking about it, and it was diffi- 
Cu\t to say wherein lay its charm. The younger was 
beautiful as a picture. His eyes sparkled with life 
and animation, his countenance was frank and open, 
but the lips bore an almost defiant expression, and 
the whole air was bold almost to impudence, of 
which useful and prevalent quality, judging both 
from face and manner, I attributed to him a very 
considerable share. A handsome, though singular, 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


25 


traveling-costume, — half artistic, half foppish, — and 
an elegant pocket-book, on which a crest was stamped, 
and which he drew out on all occasions, contrasted, 
and yet harmonized oddly, with the childishness of 
its owner, which would betray itself in spite of his 
assumption of age. 

I am not usually very intolerant towards spoiled 
children. I look upon their ill behavior as a sort of 
children’s disease, which must be passed through, 
like measles or whooping-cough. Children will be 
children,” says the proverb. This is one of mother 
Nature’s arrangements, I suppose. My young neigh- 
bor was suffering from the severest type of the dis- 
ease; at least so I judged from his ceaseless chatter. 
I was much entertained by it, as well as by his 
brother’s imperturbably good-humored efforts to re- 
press him. But they were useless; the little fellow 
was like a ball, rebounding only the higher for the 
force with which he was flung down. A noble gift, 
this elasticity of spirit, like a sparkling fountain leap- 
ing and casting its brilliant drops high into the air. 
No matter whence it spring, — whether from natural 
hopefulness of disposition, from the high spirits of 
youth, from self-confidence, or from mere arrogance, 
— it is a goodly gift, a sort of energy, and, when 
bridled and led, can be made most serviceable. 

I learned from the conversation that the younger 
was a Gymnasiastl' He spoke of the examination 
in the coming fall as ‘‘ mere child’s play,” was antici- 
pating Heidelberg, and certainly seemed thoroughly 
at home in “student language,” for every third word 
B 3 


26 


JT IS THE FASHION. 


was kneipen!' From time to time his eyes strayed 
to me, inquisitively, and, unable to guess from my 
indifferent mien in what class of society to place me, 
he threw out, occasionally, remarks, not actually ad- 
dressed to me, but calculated, as he thought, to draw 
forth a retort. But I was not to be tempted. Stilh 
his unfortunate age urged him on. 

We stopped, at last, at a station, and his brother 
had gone into the restaurant, when he suddenly ex- 
claimed, as if to himself, — 

‘‘ What a number of ladies are getting out ! The 
ladies’ car must certainly be almost empty. But 
perhaps you prefer traveling with gentlemen ?” he 
continued, suddenly turning to me. I have often 
heard that ladies prefer the gentlemen’s car.” 

‘‘ I travel where I can find a seat,” I replied, ‘‘ and 
when I have found a seat, there I stay : that informa- 
tion will perhaps spare you further remarks on the 
subject of the ladies’ car.” 

He looked rather confused, and stammered out 
that he had meant that he supposed I would find 
ladies’ company more agreeable. 

It is always possible to be alone on a journey, 
even in a crowd,” I answered. ‘^Consequently, my 
companions give me little concern. It doesn’t even 
cause me annoyance — nay, it rather amuses me — to 
travel with spoiled children, so long as they are not 
my own.” 

He bit his lips. 

“Has madame any family?” he asked, suddenly, 
in the affected accents of an exquisite. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


27 


I could scarcely keep my countenance, so absurd 
was the change of manner ; but I was spared a reply 
by the entrance of his brother, who at this instant 
sprang lightly into the coach. As the train started, 
the elder drew out a cigar-case, and very courteously 
begged my permission to smoke. Of course I granted 
it, not only because I had no right to object, but also 
because it was not in the least disagreeable to me. 

“ Give me a cigar too, Dietrich ; mine are all 
gone,'* said the younger. 

I opened my eyes ; was that child going to smoke? 
The brother paid no attention to the request. 

‘‘Well, why don’t you give it to me?” asked the 
youth. 

“ School-boys only smoke sub-rosa, never in pub- 
lic,” was the dry reply. 

“ Why are you always so fond of teasing ? Give 
me a cigar !” exclaimed the lad, flushing. 

His brother’s pleasant face was full of good-hu- 
mored mischief, as he quietly put away his cigar-case 
and proceeded to light his cigar. The youth with- 
drew to the farthest corner of the coach, put up his 
feet across the seat, and favored us, half aloud, with 
a song, in which “ ruby wine” was recommended as 
a sure preventive of death and low spirits, and drink- 
ing it extolled as life’s greatest charm. I leaned back 
and closed my eyes. As soon as he judged from my 
regular breathing that I was sound asleep, he gave 
vent to his indignation : 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking about. You’re 
not my Mentor, if you are a few years older than I 


28 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


am, and wear a uniform. You treat me like a child, 
and I am sixteen years old! The ‘ Gymnasium’ is 
not liable to military duty, you know, and I can 
easily be secretary of legation before you have gained 
your epaulettes.” 

The brother laughed so gayly that I could scarcely 
refrain from joining in, and then said, in a low 
voice, — 

” Be polite to ladies, if you want to be treated like 
a gentleman.” 

The little one’s rage knew no bounds. 

This is unbearable !” he muttered. ‘‘ I don’t know 
what right you have to assume authority over me.” 

‘ Come,’ said the robber, ‘ come along, 

For you are weak, and I am strong !’ 

quoted the elder, laughing. 

“ And the cigars are, alas ! your own ; 

But, for the future. I’ll travel alone,” 

retorted the other, quickly, undecided whether to 
laugh or to be angry. 

The future diplomatist now tried to gain his end 
by other means. 

‘‘ I talked to her very politely while you were in 
the restaurant,” he whispered to his brother. Of 
course he referred to me. My love of truth was so 
startled that, involuntarily, I opened my eyes, and 
the guilty one turned crimson with mortification. At 
that moment the train stopped ; my fellow-voyagers 
got out, and new passengers entered. 

From this time my journey was so uninteresting 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


29 


that I have nothing more to tell you about it. I had 
just awaked from a confused dream, and was, indeed, 
still half asleep, when I found myself at my destina 
tion. The guard opened the door, and every one 
hastened to quit the car. I don’t know how I ever 
got out; for, as I said, I was only half awake, and all 
the noise and crowd and bustle seemed to me like 
some strange vision. I heard my name pronounced 
by a man’s voice, — an unfamiliar one, — and answered 
mechanically. I stumbled down the steps, and 
grasped my valise, plainly feeling that some one was 
trying to take it from my hand. Determined to de- 
fend it with my life, and convinced that I had to deal 
with one of the far-famed light-fingered gentry of the 
metropolis, I was just about to cry for help, when 
the same voice said, in the most respectful tones, — 

‘‘Will the Fraulein have the kindness to step into 
the waiting-room, and I will see to her baggage ? I 
was sent by the Frau Prasidentin von Loben.” 

Fully awake at last, I laughed, resigned my trav- 
eling-bag and umbrella, and received, instead, a card, 
at which I glanced with some curiosity on arriving 
in the waiting-room. 

It was gilt-edged, and above the name was an 
elaborate flourish, that, at the first glance, looked 
almost like a crest. Beneath this was inscribed 
“Johann Gottlieb Ehrenreich Runnstadter, Public 
Waiter.” Thus I learned the high rank of my escort. 

Before long, Herr Johann Gottlieb Ehrenreich 
appeared, announcing that the baggage was on the 
carriage ; and I followed my elegant guide, who was 
3 * 


30 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


elaborately dressed in a handsome black suit, through 
the undulating crowd, to a droschke. It should have 
been a four-in-hand, to comport with the aristocratic 
servant. I entered the old rattle-trap, not without 
some uneasiness, and my companion, following me, 
seated himself opposite. Like all barbers, public 
waiters, and washerwomen, he was a great talker. 
Probably there is some cause for this gossipy nature 
in their unsettled life. From house to house, from 
family to family, they swarm, like bees, — though it 
is scarcely flower-nectar that they collect, and they 
certainly do not make honey out of it. Herr Runn- 
stadter commenced by informing me that my maid — 
he meant my old Caroline — had desired to meet me 
at the depot, but that the Frau Prasidentin” con- 
sidered it better to send some one who would be 
more of a protection, and he had come, in conse- 
quence. I made a sign of assent, and he continued, — 

“ Had you come yesterday, however, I should not 
have had the honor. It was a great festival for me, 
— my /jubilee.’'* I repeated the word mechanically, 
for I did not understand what he meant. The five- 
and-twentieth anniversary of my entrance into my 
present calling,” he explained. It is a long time to 
have been in the same business; and, as all the 
families I serve were satisfied with me, they ex- 
pressed that satisfaction by lending their countenance 
to the affair.” 

‘‘ Who gets up these celebrations ?” I asked, in 
considerable surprise. 

“ In this case it was my colleagues,” he replied. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


31 


‘‘ Of course, we all do the same as each one’s turn 
comes around ; so we expect shortly to have several 
more of the same description. It is quite the fashion 
to celebrate these anniversaries,” he explained, evi- 
dently pitying my ignorance. Merit has nothing 
to do with it. The custom has become so general 
that no one is willing to be the exception.” 

Admirable ! before long it will be the fashion for 
us old maids to celebrate our silver weddings ; for if 
these things depend solely on '‘fashion,” and merit 
has nothing to do with them, why should not silver 
weddings for unmarried people become "the fashion” 
also ? 

The good man seemed much inclined to enter into 
a long description of the feast, and even began to 
do .so ; but I was more anxious about the family than 
about the servants, and cut short all his attempts to 
return to his favorite subject. I was glad when the 
carriage stopped at the door of my future home. 
Caroline received me with as much delight as though 
we had been parted fourteen years instead of fourteen 
days, and led me up the graceful winding stairs to 
the upper story, while I admired the comfort and 
elegance of the whole establishment. Bright gas- 
lights illumined the staircase, and glass doors divided 
it from the corridors. The portion of the house re- 
tained by my hostess, and the rooms appropriated to 
myself, were upon the same floor. The entrance to 
my apartments was the farthe.st door on the right ; 
one at the opposite end of the narrow corridor led to 
Frau von Loben’s kitchen; and of the two other doors, 


32 


IT IS THE FASHIOH, 


one was the common entrance of the family, and the 
other opened on the private room of the President. 

As I passed the kitchen door, it was suddenly 
opened; a curly head appeared, and a lovely little 
boy ran out, exclaiming, in a clear, triumphant 
voice, — 

I saw her ! I saw her first ! Pm ahead of you 
all! Hurrah!" 

I was on the point of capturing the little rogue and 
giving him a hearty kiss, when a voice, sweet and 
ringing, in spite of its attempted severity of tone, 
exclaimed, — 

‘‘ For shame, Arthur ! how can you be so rude ?" 
And a pretty, fresh, young woman, appearing in the 
doorway, drew the child back into the room, nodding 
me a half-shy, blushing greeting as she did so. 

Caroline was waiting impatiently to introduce me 
to my new apartments. A sigh of the deepest satis- 
faction burst from my lips as I entered, and the old 
woman, with tears of joy and pride, exclaimed, — 

“Haven't I done well? Doesn’t it all look nice? 
The Frau Prasidentin helped me, and she has such 
good taste ! Now my greatest wish is fulfilled ! You 
are my only mistress, and I your only servant, and 
we will be as happy as the day is long !’’ 

Caroline’s face was beaming with content* and 
pleasant anticipations, and, if I can judg'e so early in 
my sojourn, I shall have every reason to sympathize 
with her. I retained, as you know, the old furniture 
belonging to my aunt, and have, as far as possible, 
preserved the old arrangement, only adding n^ces- 


IT IS THE fashion: 


33 


sary articles, instead of exchanging it for a more 
modern style ; so a home-feeling came over me as I 
looked around, and I felt that my house was my 
castle. Not only was I mistress, but I saw that others 
had taken trouble for me ; both were entirely new 
sensations, for, as you know, my lot has, until lately, 
been to care and to think for others, and what little 
pleasure I had, was smuggled in as it were, like con- 
traband goods, by my old Caroline. Beautiful flowers 
adorned my window, and Caroline’s luminous coun- 
tenance showed whom I had to thank for them. 
Pointing to a little glass dish filled with leaves and 
blossoms, she said, in a mysterious tone, — 

“ From the Frau Prasidentin.” 

I bent to examine them; a rich perfume was per- 
ceptible, and on a background of green leaves was 
traced, in dark-blue violets, the word '' Welcome!” 

How lovely 1” was my first exclamation ; my 
second, But where do violets come from in De- 
cember?” 

''They are artificial,” explained Caroline, "and the 
perfume is eau de violette, — ' violet-water’ they call it, 
though it’s perfectly white, — which the Frau Prasi- 
dentin poured over them.” 

Disappointed, and with my enthusiasm decidedly 
chilled, I turned away. 

"You will find plenty more artificial things here,” 
remarked Caroline. 

Well, then, I will have to be all the more natural 
myself, and not let my homely common sense be de- 
ceived by the paper violets of a pretended spring. 

B* 


34 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


But the comfortable song of the teakettle, which 
greeted me on my return from a reconnoissance of the 
rest of my apartments, was natural and home-like 
enough. When I was a little girl, I used to dance to 
its music ; later in life, tea and sickness were insepar- 
able ideas in my mind; and now, for the first time, 
I heard in its monotonous hum the fairy song of 
home-life and home-comfort. I felt unwilling to sit 
down all alone at my table, but Caroline persistently 
refused to grant my request that she would join me. 
I must tell you of all the housekeeping arrangements 
she has made for me. My tea and coffee she prepares 
herself. As regards my meals, she, in accordance 
with Frau von Loben’s advice, has made an agree- 
ment with a cook formerly in princely employ, my 
friend Johann Ehrenreich going to his establishment 
at settled hours to bring them to me; so you see my 
housekeeping is all taken oflT my hands. I have 
nothing to do, and rejoice at the amount of time now 
at my disposal, when, not long ago, I could scarcely 
call a moment my own. How I shall work and read, 
and go to museums and theatres, and enjoy myself 
after my own fashion ! Work, — but for whom ? My 
dear Count, you must let me embroider you a rug, 
and you must promise to put your feet on it, for you 
know how much I dislike objectless working, — kill- 
ing time instead of using it. I slept delightfully the 
night of my arrival, and much later than usual, 
making an excuse of my wearisome journey, — for 
I have no desire to attempt to redeem, among the 
other losses of the past, my lost sleep. How often I 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


35 


have longed for it, not for myself, but for the suffer- 
ing old woman to whom its kindly balm came so 
seldom ! Will I ever forget my thoughts and feel- 
ings during those long, lonely nights? Man is a 
tough creature! Deeply though he be pierced by 
the troubles and sorrows of this world, yet he clings to 
life ; the springs of hope and enjoyment are not easily 
dried up, and the darkest clouds do not long make 
us forget that the sky is blue after all. I have always 
striven to remember that. Though gray to-day, to- 
morrow blue ! If not to-morrow, the day after; if 
not soon, some day. For many years I have seen 
the blue sky only in hope and memory ; but now its 
vault of beauty and brightness arches at last above 
me. Truly I am happy; although the delusive image 
called youthful joy has deserted me forever, although 
my heart is full of sad remembrances, although I 
reached the age of thirty years ere I had power to 
say, “ I will do this, and leave that undone.” I 
am happy ; but I will never attain that double 
happiness which, flowing from ourselves to others, 
comes back in a fuller, sweeter stream, that happiness 
which dwells in community of thought, feeling, and 
interest, — that I must never enjoy! Its light never 
shone for me, its shadows have fallen darkly upon 
my path. Many a time have I believed it only a 
dazzling dream, from which we awake in darkness 
and alone. Family happiness ! In vain the heart, 
with its thousand joys and hopes and fears, strives to 
find in itself its all. But away with these regrets! 
away with the repining thought that I am like a 


36 


IT IS THE FASHION-, 


leaf torn from its parent tree and driven about at 
the pleasure of Fate's wayward breeze! To care 
for no one, to grieve for no one, to be accountable 
to no one save to the universal Father, — that is the 
portion of felicity appointed to us lonely ones — to us 
who never may taste of the bitter-sweets of family 
happiness. Nevertheless, each one's best dependence 
is in himself, and around those who stand firmest 
others will gather. You warned me against solitude ; 
I am not lonely while I can fly, with my crowd- 
ing thoughts, to you for sympathy, while I can 
make you the confidant of my inner and outer ex- 
periences ; as in the home-circle we give utterance 
to our feelings unrestrainedly, and speak or are silent 
as we choose, so will I write to you. You promised 
to excuse the style ; excuse, also, the want of logical 
connection. Then it will really seem as though we 
were again together. But you, like most wise people, 
are silent, and leave the talking to me. 


SECOND LETTER. 


The first acquaintance was made to-day, and the 
first links of a chain that may bind me to my fellow- 
occupants — a lightly-woven, easily-broken chain — 
was artlessly flung around me by childish hands. 

I was at the breakfast-table, when I heard gentle 
whispering at my door ; a light knock, and then a 
bolder one, followed. I opened it ; my curly-headed 
friend of last night stood before me, holding by the 
hand a lovely little girl, still younger than himself. 
The young gentleman had evidently escaped from 
his nurse or from his mamma in the midst of his 
toilet, which was by no means completed. One 
stocking hung down over his little morocco boot, 
displaying a plump leg, ornamented with every de- 
scription of scratch, telling of adventurous enter- 
prises ; the other boot was only half on, and he had 
trodden it down at the heel ; the rebellious black 
curls hung in disorder around the little head; and 
an unmistakable smear around the rosy mouth, ex- 
tending over one dimpled cheek, showed that the 
owner had not long breakfasted. The little girl, on 
the contrary, was as clean as a wax doll; though I 
could not help noticing the torn lace that edged the 
unseasonable barege frock. 

'' Here we are !” said the boy, — I and Clarchen; 
so good-morning.’’ 


4 


(37) 


38 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


** Good-morning,” I repeated, taking the little fel- 
low’s offered hand, and leading the children into the 
room. And now, who are you ?” 

“Clarchen von Loben, four years old, No. 5 Albert 
Street, first floor,” said the little girl, like a parrot. 

‘‘ These are our rooms, do you know ?” said the boy. 

“Yes, but you will let me live in them?” I asked, 
and received a decided nod, as a reward for my hu- 
mility. “And what is your name?” I asked the boy. 

“Arthur.” 

“And how old are you?” 

“ Four — seven — five years old.” 

“ Five,” corrected Caroline, from my bedroom. 

“And what do you want?” I continued. 

“To see the strange lady,” he replied. 

“To see the strange lady,” lisped the girl after him. 

“ Well, look at me, then.” 

The two little monkeys stood before me, and the 
little boy opened his eyes, and the little girl her 
mouth, just as wide as possible. At last the former 
asked, “Why have you such a black dress on?” 

“ One of my family is dead, and so I wear mourn- 
ing,” I explained. 

“ Is that the fashion ?” asked the boy. 

Heaven help us ! The fashion ! — already a watch- 
word in the lips of a child five years old! Idleness 
and vanity raise it to its shrine; shallowness and want 
of judgment are its high-priests; and the multitude, 
falling prone, worship the golden calf. The boy 
seemed following his own thoughts, for suddenly he 
said, — 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


39 


I don’t know what ‘ dead’ means.” 

“ Heaven be thanked !” I thought. ‘‘ And may you 
never know, until you learn that death is but the gate- 
way to a fairer life, and that we wear black robes 
not for the dead — but for ourselves.” 

‘‘ Ghosts are dead,” whispered the little girl confi- 
dentially to me, ‘‘and they will run away with us if 
we are naughty; that’s what Hulda always tells us 
when mamma isn’t there.” 

“Who is Hulda?” I asked, quite horrified at the 
child’s communication. She looked at me, evidently 
unable to comprehend why I did not know who 
Hulda was, while Arthur explained : 

“ The sewing-girl ” 

“ The dressmaker,” corrected Clarchen. 

“She gets angry when I call her ‘sewing-girl:’ 
that’s why I do it,” continued Arthur. “ She makes 
mamma’s and Bertha’s common dresses ; the tailor 
makes the nice ones.” 

“ Is it true that ghosts run away with people ?” 
asked Clarchen. 

“There are no such things,” I assured the timid 
little creature. “When Hulda tells you so, she only 
does it to make you good; but you ought to be good 
to please your papa cind mamma — not from fear.” 

“ Oh, mamma doesn’t care. She scolds us some- 
times, but she always gives us cakes afterwards,” ex- 
claimed Arthur, interrupting my first effort at a moral 
lesson. It was like a wet blanket; so I suppressed my 
maxims of good behavior, and, to hide my amuse- 
ment, bent to kiss the lips whose practical experience 


40 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


SO boldly contradicted my fine theories. Those lips, 
as I have already said, might have been cleaner. 

'‘But what a dirty face !’' I exclaimed ; and, dipping 
the end of a towel in water, I wiped the rosy little 
mouth. Then I drew up his stocking, fastened, his 
boot, and brushed the disordered curls. 

“ So ! now you look like a gentleman ; before, I 
took you for a little beggar child.” 

He laughed. “We are very rich,” he assured me. 

“When mamma washes him, he cries,” remarked 
the little girl, as I seated her before me and with a 
needle and thread began to repair the torn lace. 

The children remained with me a long time, amusing 
me much by their artless prattle. Suddenly there was a 
violent knocking at my door, and, as Caroline opened 
it, a servant-woman rushed in, in the greatest excite- 
ment, and asked if I had seen anything of two 
children. 

“ The Frau Prasidentin is quite ill with fright, and 
so angry with her husband for not watching them 
better,” said this person, in a rough, coarse voice ; 
and, without a word of apology, but with numerous 
scolding epithets, she seized the two little culprits, 
dragging Clarchen (who could not get off the chair 
quickly enough) down by the arm. 

“ Who may you be ?” I asked, sternly, indignant at 
her impudent manner. 

“ It is Henrietta, — our Henrietta,” returned Arthur. 

I told her, in a very dignified manner, not to pull the 
children about so roughly, and that she need not wait, 
as I would send them to their mother. The woman 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


41 


stared at me in amazement ; some impertinent re- 
joinder hovered on her lips, but, changing her mind, 
she altered it into an apology. Arthur took his little 
sister by the hand, and said gravely to her, — 

We won’t dare to strike this lady, will we ?” 
whereupon the little girl looked up at me shyly and 
thoughtfully. 

No, they will not ; but how do other people’s chih 
dren concern me ? Thank Heaven, the responsibility 
of bringing them up doesn’t rest on my shoulders. 

That same day I made the acquaintance of my 
hostess. I paid her a visit to apologize for the chil- 
dren’s escapade, and, moreover, to beg that I might 
be allowed to see as much of them as possible, not 
only because I felt that they would be rays of sun- 
shine in my quiet life, but because I knew it would 
be a benefit to them also. They both rushed to 
meet me, like an old acquaintance, the moment I 
entered the room, and were very instrumental in 
removing the feeling of embarrassment natural to a 
first meeting ; for as soon as the mother saw the inti- 
mate footing I was on with her children, she naturally 
felt more at her ease with me, and, besides, it gave 
us something to talk about. I will here give you a 
sketch of the family and their surroundings, or rather 
will tell you what little I have learned of them in my 
short acquaintance. Frau von Loben is young, very 
pretty, and charming in manner. My cool reserve 
thawed entirely before the urgent, almost affectionate, 
way in which she begged that I would be sociable. 
She impressed me with the idea that she had fallen 
4 * 


42 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


in love with me at first sight; but I do not place 
much confidence in these speedy conquests. She 
has several children, — three of her own, and four 
stepchildren, the offspring of the President’s former 
marriage. On my first visit to her, I met, besides my 
two little friends, another daughter, Gertrude, a child 
about eleven years old, not pretty, but with such 
a quiet, gentle expression that she made on me a 
much pleasanter impression than did Bertha, Frau 
von Loben’s stepdaughter, — '' our beauty,” as she calls 
her. '' Our beauty” appeared to me a rather con- 
ceited and somewhat blase e young lady, with very 
little in her pretty head except dress and pleasure. 
Besides these there are three stepsons, the eldest an 
officer in the Guards,” the second still at school, 
and the third a cadet at some preparatory establish- 
ment. The latter is at home now, on leave, and in 
his honor a juvenile ball is to be given, to which his 
stepmother has invited me. The two elder boys, now 
off on a holiday, are also expected to return in time 
for the grand occasion. Apparently the Lobens are 
well off. It is true that, with all the elegance of their 
dress and establishment, it seems a little strange that 
they should keep none but female servants, and should 
only have a man (the one who met me at the cars) 
engaged for a certain number of hours each day. 
However, Frau von Loben assures me that, with few 
exceptions, such is the general custom here. Every- 
thing can easily be had outside the house, and for 
any unexpected emergency extra labor is always 
readily to be secured. I merely repeat what she told 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


43 


me. According to my ideas, the home is in itself a 
little world, whether it be large or small, containing 
the highest type of earthly happiness. Everything 
in it should work in perfect accord, — family and 
servants, rules and habits. That is what distinguishes 
it from a mere hotel, where everything can be had, it 
is true, but which is not home. Each hand should 
have its appointed portion, and that portion should be 
measured by the strength and the number of hands. 
Then this ‘‘ outside labor” would not be necessary, 
or, if at all, only for sudden and unanticipated 
emergencies. Of course there are different grades 
of homes, — the palace of the rich, where each branch 
of work has its appointed servant; the home of the 
middle class, where wife, daughter, and servant evenly 
divide the labor ; and the hut of the poor, where there 
are none but laboring hands ; but such housekeeping 
as this, where servants are procured for the need of 
the moment, seems to me to lack solid foundation. 
Where there are so many children there must be much 
work. Frau von Loben showed me hers, — her flower- 
stand and ivy-frame, the former full of lovely plants, 
the latter in perfect order, and growing beautifully, — 
charming and poetical occupations, which forced me 
to conclude that her more homely duties were either 
very admirably or very carelessly performed. She 
herself says that her mornings run away almost with- 
out her being conscious of it, and she has to hurry 
so as to be dressed in time to receive visitors. While 
the mother tends flowers and receives company, what 
do the children do ? I cannot tell, yet. I did not 


44 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


see anywhere in the sitting-room either a sewing- 
table or a work-basket; but little Gertrude, who 
moved a stool close beside my chair, was busily 
occupied in making a doll’s dress. 

She is an industrious child, — the best of them all,’' 
whispered the mother, seeing that I observed the 
little girl. 

Bertha pouted, and in the conversation which en- 
sued, on the bringing up of children, made some 
very silly and dogmatically-spoken remarks. She 
declared she hated the very words ; that young people 
should bring themselves up, as they certainly knew 
their own disposition better than any one else did. 

But suppose that disposition should be a bad 
one ?” said I. 

There may be different opinions on that subject,” 
she replied ; and, of course, one places most confi- 
dence in one’s own judgment.” 

1 looked at the girl in amazement. 

Children and fools speak the truth,” it is said. 

How old are you ?” I asked. 

Fifteen,” she replied. 

Indeed !” I exclaimed, involuntarily. 

She blushed to her very temples ; and Frau von 
Loben said, in a tone that merely recognized the 
fact, and did not disapprove of it, — 

'' Yes, our young people are very wise ; it is of no 
use to argue with them. The old-fashioned ideas 
and rules are totally disregarded. Formerly, respect 
was always exacted from the younger to the elder. 
That is no longer the fashion.” 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


45 


“ I always thought that fashion was a word apply- 
ing merely to outward things,” I said. ‘‘It is true that 
these stand in close connection with our inner life, 
with our moral and aesthetic sentiments ; but that 
they should rule and regulate them, or that obliga- 
tions should be changed or thrown aside at the 
whim of fashion, like worn-out dresses and bonnets, 
I will never acknowledge ; or, if such really be the 
case, it must be a most evil state of affairs.” 

“We live in evil times,” said Frau von Loben, 
“and must adapt ourselves to them. In Rome we 
must do like the Romans.” 

“ No,” I replied, “ I think we should struggle 
against these influences, and use all our power to 
discountenance them.” 

Bertha laughed, with a supercilious air which gave 
a most unpleasant expression to her pretty features. 
“ That is the way people always talk,” she said, 
“ when they first come from the country ; but it isn't 
long before they fall in with the general customs and 
follow the universal fashions. I have already seen 
plenty of skirts that barely touched the floor” — she 
glanced at mine as she spoke, and at the long pele- 
rine I usually wear — “ grow into sweeping trains, and 
plenty of old-fashioned dresses altered to suit the 
prevailing style. Fashion is, and always will be, a 
mighty power.” 

“A power just so far as you acknowledge her as 
such, and consent to bow to her sway,” I replied, 
“But what is to be the limit of her authority? Some 
leading modiste may become insane, and fashion 


46 ^ IT the fashion. 

decree that we must all have our heads shaved, as 
hers was when she was taken to the asylum. Man 
is an imitative being, you know ; and whither one 
sheep leads, others are sure to follow.” 

** But surely we never would imitate an insane 
modiste,” said Bertha. 

‘‘ I beg your pardon,” I answered. What should 
distinguish our dress ? Undoubtedly, beauty and 
convenience. Then you surely will acknowledge 
that those who instituted the present style cannot 
have been possessed of either sense or judgment 
Do you think it very convenient to have people con- 
tinually walking over your dress, or to be contin- 
ually walking over theirs ? or is it pleasant to have 
one’s feet enveloped in it, as in a bundle ? And as 
for beauty, ask any painter if it be possible to dis- 
cover in a modern costume a trace of artistic grace. 
I insist that whoever invented the present fashion is 
well worthy of a cell in an institution for the insane.” 

I think that many agree with you,” said Frau 
von Loben ; ‘^but what does it avail? The few 
cannot reform the many.” 

The mass consists of separate individuals, and 
would need no reformer if each of those individuals 
would reform himself or herself” 

Bertha asked me, rather impertinently, how long I 
had been in the capital, or if I had made all these re- 
markable discoveries elsewhere. 

‘‘ In the capital only a few days,” I replied, in the 
most amiable manner, but in the world for thirty 
years ; and although formerly children did not know 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


47 


SO much as they do now, yet I have had time and 
opportunities enough to be able to measure my 
opinions with those of the wisest children/’ 

The entrance of her father cut short Bertha’s reply, 
and a look of decided indignation and dislike was 
all she could bestow upon me. I ignored it in the 
calmest manner, and rose to greet the master of the 
house. 

How ill the man looks !” was my first thought. 
Whether it be age, care, or bad health — or all three 
— which has so bowed him, I cannot tell. He is a 
tall, slender man, and were he stouter would be a 
very handsome one. His clothes hang in folds 
around him; his hair is mixed with gray; his com- 
plexion is of a sickly sallow hue, with a hectic color 
on the cheeks ; his eyes have a strange brightness 
about them, but, in spite of their look of ill health, 
express unmistakable kindness of heart. There was 
such geniality, such unaffected warmth, in his simple 
greeting that, although I ascribed them not to any- 
thing in myself, but rather to his own gentle, pleasant 
disposition, it made far more impression upon me 
than the gushing reception given me by his wife. 
With him, as it were, the foundation is prepared on 
which to build a firm and solid friendship; with her 
the building seems all ready for its occupant, but the 
whole fabric is so fragile that I cannot but doubt its 
power to resist the first storm that comes to prove it. 
It is much safer to build up a friendship gradually ; 
a quickly-formed one is little to be depended upon. 
Eveiy^thing in this world must be struggled for. 


48 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


What comes to us without effort usually departs as 
easily. 

I now took my leave, as I judged from the return 
of the President, as well as from the movements of 
the waiter in the neighboring apartment, that the 
dinner-hour must be approaching.' Frau von Loben 
insisted on accompanying me .as far as my room, 
taking occasion to tell me how kind her husband was, 
and how happy she herself was, — how the President's 
appearance of ill health often troubled her and gave 
her great anxiety, but that he was perfectly well, and 
was only somewhat overburdened with work. Did 
I think he looked badly ? All this she said standing 
at my room-door. I asked her three times to come 
in; three times she refused, with the remark that it 
was the dinner-hour, and that her husband did not like 
to wait. My dear Count, if first the man-servant, then 
the maid, and then Bertha, had not come to call her, 
and had not I, finally, with playful violence compelled 
her to go, we would have been standing there and 
talking yet. It made me think of my visits to you. 
I felt precisely as though I were with you once more, 
and unable to make up my mind to leave, although 
the horses were stamping impatiently outside the 
door, and Johann had already three times announced, 
“ The carriage is waiting.” Good-by, then, — one 
more grasp of the hand. The wings of my fancy 
sink wearily down, and I feel that I am far from you. 
All is still, — only from time to time the merry sound 
of childish voices comes to my listening ear. 


THIRD LETTER. 


I HAVE a perfect recollection of a masked ball of 
my childhood, and even now I look back upon it as 
on some lovely fairy-tale, although the cruel sport 
my aunt made of me gave me for a few moments 
the bitterest heartache I ever had in my life. She 
had made me put on my costume reversed, and my 
face was turned to the wall, whilst an absurd mask 
grinned mockingly from the back of my head. Per- 
haps it was symbolic. To the joys of this life my 
back has always been turned, and sometimes I can 
hardly resist the feeling of mocking scorn that comes 
over me as I contemplate the trivial pleasures of the 
fashionable world. But that evening I was eagerly 
awaiting the moment to turn around and join in the 
merriment I heard but could not see. That came in 
an unexpected manner. One of the boys struck me, 
laughingly, on the shoulder, and exclaimed, Why, 
Hildegard has her hump in front to-night!’^ 

I turned passionately around, struck the nearest 
person to me ^an innocent looker-on), and burst into 
a flood of tears. My aunt shook me roughly by 
the arm: Look whom you are striking, will you ? 
What cause have you to be angry if one person 
remarks what every one sees ? Whether hump- 
backed or not, go enjoy yourself!’' 

5 ( 49 ) 


50 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


Those words I never forgot. I never strike blindly, 
never strike revengefully, and even her last piece of 
advice I have striven all my life long to follow, as I 
strove to follow it then. It was the gayest evening 
of my life. And in what did its gayety consist? 
Tinsel and bright ribbons, a few more lights than 
usual, home-made cake and raspberry wine, and at 
about nine o’clock a simple supper, the crowning 
point of which was a farina pudding. Such were the 
splendors which rendered that evening a never-to-be- 
forgotten one. They would be scorneJ by children 
nowadays. We have advanced since then. As each 
new fashion comes in, it displaces the last one. From 
simplicity to comfort, from comfort to luxury, thence 
to extravagance ; so the ladder mounts upward, step 
by step, — but whither ? I fear the ambitious climbers 
will ere long totter on their dizzy height and be 
plunged into a bitter depth of misery before they suc- 
ceed in regaining their once-contemned lost Paradise 
of happy simplicity. 

But I must tell you about last night. At first I 
thought I certainly was in fairy-land. It really 
looked like it. The gloomy, rather disorderly nursery 
had been transformed into a fresh, green wood, 
where fairy forms disported gayly. Fir branches 
covered the walls, and among the dark-green twigs 
were brackets on which stood blooming plants. A 
handsome chandelier shed a light as bright as day 
upon happy childish eyes, which reflected it even 
more brightly. When I entered the room, the com- 
pany was already pretty well assembled, — not only 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


SI 

the children, but the mothers and sisters who had 
been invited to share in the pleasure of the little 
ones. I soon made a large number of new ac- 
quaintances, and felt precisely as though I were a 
piece of cake being passed around, — everybody says 
“ thanks” in the most courteous manner, but nobody 
takes it. When the introductions were over, I really 
had done nothing more than look at the people Who 
had been presented, and my memory retained little 
of their names, save confused ideas of the feminine 
form of every possible variety of title. I determined 
not to trouble my mind much about it, but if “ Frau,” 
or Frau von,” wouldn’t do, to call all the wives of 
the civil officers Geheimerathin,” and those of the 
military, “ Excellenz,” — and if that wasn’t right, 
why, I couldn’t help it. 

When I had taken my place in the circle of ladies, 
Frau von Loben introduced to me her three step- 
sons. Fancy my surprise when my two traveling- 
companions stood before me! I forgot the poor little 
cadet entirely, so amused was I at this meeting with 
my two acquaintances, and at the convicted aspect 
of the elegantly-dressed young Joachim. 

‘‘ It is always pleasant to meet old friends,” I said, 
mischievously, and, turning to him, remarked, ‘^Have 
you succeeded in obtaining those cigars yet, Herr 
von Loben ? I mean the ones you thought you de- 
served to have for your politeness to me while your 
brother was in the restaurant.” 

“Thunder! Then you weren’t asleep, and heard us 
quarreling?” he exclaimed, in decided consternation; 


52 


/?" IS THE FASH/OH, 


and then added, quite repentantly, “ I beg your par 
don, most sincerely.” 

‘‘For the ‘thunder,’ or for the politeness, or for 
your recommendation of the ladies’ car, or for the 
quarrel ?” I asked, laughing. 

“Not for the quarrel, for you were asleep, you 
know ; but for the ‘ thunder,’ which is not cornme-il- 
faut in my mother’s parlor,” replied the impudent 
young fellow, making me a profound bow. 

“ I am glad to see that you respect your mother’s 
parlor, and to find that there is a place where it will 
not be necessary to keep out of your way, as it gen- 
erally is with boys of your age, unless one wishes to 
assume the office of their absent tutor.” 

I had spoken in a very low tone ; no one could 
possibly have heard what I said ; but a fat, little, 
old lady, whose name I had forgotten, nodded to 
me as I spoke, and then, rising, drew near to listen 
to our conversation. The reproof was sharp, and its 
effect surprised me. The youth’s eyes met mine in 
a full, bold glance. There was no trace of embar- 
rassment in it; for what can embarrass an unabashed 
boy of his age? But there was confidence in me, — 
decided confidence. Then he answered, with that 
comical mixture of affectation and childishness which 
often ends in complete foppery and silliness, but 
which is in itself only a sort of transition state, — 

“I beg your pardon ; but it is my maxim to see as 
much as possible of human nature. I set boldly 
about it ; but, to tell you the truth, I like best of all 
those who are least tolerant towards me.” 


IT IS THE FASHIOH. 


53 


"‘Very flattering, my young sir,'' I said, making 
him a low courtesy. “ I shall try to deserve your 
good opinion." 

“ Oh, you should not scorn a school-boy's good 
opinion," he said, drawing himself up. “ The school- 
boy becomes a man, and the good opinion may be- 
come true friendship." 

“ Why not ?" I said to myself, and looked at my 
future friend. “ The boy is a coxcomb, but I like him 
for all." I held out my hand. 

“ We will shake hands on it," I said. 

He pressed it heartily, shook his bright curls, and 
hurried away. His mother looked at me inquiringly. 
I told her of the circumstance, treating her son's 
rudeness as a jest. But I might have painted it in 
the blackest colors, and she would have been none 
the less delighted. 

“ That is just like him !" she said. “ The naughty 
boy ! But he is as bright and as amiable as he can 
be; he is the best of them all." 

I exchanged a few words, also, with Dietrich, but 
Bertha interrupted us. The young girl looked per- 
fectly lovely, and was completely in her element. 
She entreated her brother to come and dance with a 
lady who had no partner. He refused, at first, de- 
cidedly, but at last allowed himself to be flattered 
and coaxed into consenting. A hearty embrace was 
his reward. 

"" Now, I have to open the ball with the ugliest 
girl in the room," he said, “just because she is Ber- 
tha's friend and has no partner." 

5 * 


54 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


That is very thoughtful of Bertha/’ said I. 

Oh, yes, she h very kind, — much more so than 
she appears to strangers. There is something about 
the girl — I call it ' mum! ” 

What do you mean ?” I asked, laughing. 

Ah, if you can’t imagine it, I don’t know how to 
tell you,” he replied, laughing also. '' Mum is mum ; 
you can call it ‘murr,’ if you choose. It means the 
same.” 

This explanation did not help me much ; but, 
though I never had any talent for languages, this 
sort of '' thieves’ Latin” of young people has a sort 
of attraction for me ; so I displayed my comprehen- 
sion of the new word by saying that his brother 
Joachim had plenty of it. 

Yes, indeed,” answered Dietrich ; ''but he needs 
putting down.” 

" And that you attend to ?” 

"Yes; and he revenges himself on the cadet.” 

" Who, in his turn, revenges himself on the little 
ones ?” 

" Oh, no ; he is too young yet.” 

" But who puts you down ? — as putting down seems 
necessary to the possessor of this singular something, 
of which you doubtless have your share.” 

" Oh, Fate does it for me, or rather tries to ; how- 
ever, ' Merry live and happy die !’ ” 

The music here interrupted him. The couples 
formed ; old and young, all took part. I looked on, 
and the fat old lady, already mentioned, said, — 

"You do not dance, either; I am so glad! I was 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


55 


afraid I would be left by myself. Come over here 
and sit by me, and we will watch them and have a 
nice talk all to ourselves.” 

Frau von Loben overheard her words, and turned 
to me. 

“Be careful!” she said, raising her finger, warn- 
ingly; “a two-edged sword is blunt, compared to 
that tongue.” 

The old lady only laughed. 

“ Are you afraid ?” she asked, in a good-humored 
but somewhat brusque tone. 

“I don’t know yet,” I replied. 

“Well, I will tell you,” she continued. “People 
can’t bear the truth unless it is sugar-coated ; and 
then they swallow the sweet part and throw the 
rest away as indigestible. The arrows of folly and 
malice are sharper and more poisoned, but they 
often shoot past the mark, and are not felt like the 
shafts of truth, which fly straight home. Don’t you 
think so ?” 

I could not but acknowledge the truth of the ob- 
servation. 

“ Nothing provokes me more,” she continued, 
“than people who pretend to excuse everything, and 
parade their compassion until they make the judge a 
criminal.” 

The original remarks of my new acquaintance 
amused me. They were very different from the or- 
dinary cut-and-dried phrases of a first meeting. Sud- 
denly she turned again towards me. “ I heard your 
conversation with that boy/’ she said. “You, too, 


56 


IT IS THE FASHIOH. 


can shoot straight to the mark. Before long they 
will callj^^^^ sharp, also.'' 

Better that than dull," I replied. 

She nodded. I think we will suit each other," 
she said. I am too straightforward in speaking 
my mind. I tread with my whole weight; none but 
old people should do that ; the younger ones must 
step more lightly. So I will serve as a horrible 
warning to you." 

She looked at me keenly, as if to judge whether 
I understood her words and what I thought of them. 
I suppose she was surprised to see from my expres- 
sion that I did not take her warning amiss, and 
thought she would try me still further: — 

‘‘You told Joachim the truth boldly. I like that. 
But can you bear to hear it ? Shall I try ? I shall 
not spare you." 

“ You have my full permission," I said, laughingly. 

“We will see. You are, I believe, deformed?" 

“ I am perfectly aware of that fact, my dear Frau 
Geheimerathin," I replied, quickly, much amused. 

“ Positively, you did not even turn red. I see you 
are not sensitive to your bodily infirmity; so you 
must have a sound mind. Let us be good friends. 
By the way," she continued, “ why did you call me 
Frau Geheimerathin?" 

“Aren’t you that? Then, shall I call you ‘ Ex- 
cellenz' ?’' 

“ I suppose you think I am fat and old enough to 
be one," she replied. “ You have given me my right 
name; but, if you thought to retort upon me, you 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


i7 


were mistaken. I scorn most heartily that title- 
worship which is a distinguishing characteristic of 
our modern society. My husband’s title is as little 
a weak point with me as your deformity seems to be 
with you. He was once ‘ Geheimerath/ but I, his 
widow, claim no title save ‘ Frau von Schonau call 
me by that name.” 

I felt sure that we should be good friends, and that 
I would find much that was charming in the old lady, 
in spite of her furrowed face and her disproportion- 
ately broad figure. During this little conversation, 
the couples “chassez-ed’' by us, led, to my surprise, 
by the President and little Clarchen. She scarcely 
reached to his knee, and in her white dress with its 
rose-colored sash, just the shade of her round dim- 
pled cheeks, looked, in contrast with the tall, sallow 
man, like a little spring flower at the foot of a leaf- 
less tree, — she opening her tender calyx to the morn- 
ing sun, — at his root, the fatal axe. I had to turn 
away, it was so sad a sight to see the train of merry 
children thus led, as it were, by Life and Death. 
Life and Death ! not opponents, — mighty allies are 
they ; coequal rulers of this world of ours. Who 
can oppose their resistless power? The poorest 
traveler cannot find rest whilst the one holds him in 
its fetters. Youth, love, beauty, riches, happiness, — 
nothing can save the victim of the other, or ward off 
his unerring blows. Terrible indeed is it to con- 
template one’s utter powerlessness in the presence of 
Life and Death. Strange thoughts at a child’s ball ! 
They passed away with the last notes of the polonaise, 


S8 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


at the termination of which the President resigned 
his little partner to his youngest son. What a funny 
little couple they were, — Arthur and Clarchen ! Re- 
gardless of time or step, they rushed blindly into the 
thickest of the crowd, and, tumbling down, quietly 
sat, without losing their hold of each other, till they 
found opportunity to rise, when, clambering to their 
feet, they recommenced. Knocked against, trodden 
down, twisted around, they danced on without pause, 
save these involuntary ones, with happy faces, and 
most admirable perseverance, striving to make head- 
way against opposing fortune ; and it was singular 
that the little ones did not seem to be wearied by 
their violent exercise, whilst I was almost breathless 
with laughing and merely watching them. I needed 
a hundred eyes fully to take in the varying images 
around me, for two were comparatively useless. Chil- 
dren and elegantly-dressed ladies, affectation and the 
purest simplicity, pretentiousness and modesty, here 
the first dawn of maidenly reserve, there childhood’s 
unrestrained abandonment of itself to pleasure; and 
yet all these contradictions were lost sight of in the 
universal good humor and enjoyment. 

No, I won’t dance with you,” said the cadet to a 
little girl, who, with juvenile disregard of '‘the pro- 
prieties,” had offered herself as his partner. "You 
have no gloves on, and you’ll make mine dirty.” 

" But my gloves are torn,” said the child, piteously. 

"Are those a soldier’s manners?” said Dietrich to 
his brother, sternly, holding out his hand to the 
disappointed little girl. " Come, Helene, I will dance 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


59 


with you! Only wait till you are an officer; then 
you will be taught a lesson,” he added, to the boy, 
as he whirled past with his little partner. Dietrich 
seems to consider this sort of ^‘putting down” the 
first principle of all education. Perhaps he is right. 
Some natures, doubtless, absolutely require it ; but 
it would be the wisest course to do it for ourselves. 
Helene, however, did not profit by experience, for, 
after her dance with Dietrich, she actually repeated 
her request to the little cadet, — a touching example 
of womanly trust and forgiveness. These were, as 
usual, unappreciated, for the boy whispered, in reply, 
‘'You are perfectly shameless;” but, fearing another 
reproof from Dietrich, who stood close by, was com- 
pelled to grant her request. It was my greatest source 
of amusement to watch the cadet dance ; he was such 
an admirable caricature of his eldest brother. What 
was grace with the elder became, with the younger, 
affectation, and elegance an absurd consciousness. 
At every step he seemed to be saying, “Only look at 
me.” I did him that favor, and he evidently noticed 
it, taking it, of course, as a sign of admiration, for he 
managed constantly to dance in my immediate vicin- 
ity, and at last, when I had just finished a piece of 
cake, and was holding the empty plate, he rushed up 
with the most officious politeness to relieve me of 
it. I had not yet spoken to him, so availed myself 
of this opportunity. He answered like a person of 
double his years, but seemed precocious rather than 
really sensible. 

“ What was the name of the little girl with whom 


6o 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


you refused to dance because she had no gloves ?” I 
asked, at last 

He blushed. ‘^That was not the only reason,” 
answered he. I am not rude to ladies ; but those 
who force themselves on one in such a manner do 
not deserve that title.” 

The boy was right. The young Lobens seem very 
singular to me; but perhaps all children are alike, 
and it may be I notice their peculiarities especially 
because I have been so little thrown with young 
people. These children’s minds appear to me like a 
disorderly drawer, containing every description of 
motley object, part out of place, part only fit to be 
thrown away ; but we find, on examination, among 
the mental chaos some scraps of sound sense, some 
fragments of good feeling. 

‘‘ But you danced with her at last,” I said. 

He pointed to Dietrich. We must bow to tyr- 
anny,” he said, “ until we have power to crush it.” 

And what is the tyranny here?” I asked, half 
amused, and half ashamed of my sympathy with the 
little upstart. 

A sound boxing,” he answered, with a sudden 
relapse into boyishness that quite won my heart. 

They both tyrannize over me because they are 
stronger than I am ; but they won’t be so long. 
Look, am I not large for my age ? Did you ever 
see a more muscular arm, or a broader chest?” 

He straightened himself up, and stretched out his 
right arm to show me the swelling muscles. I was 
much entertained at this unexpected study of anat- 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


omy, but was about to express my admiration, when 
Fra,u von Loben hastened towards us. 

“ The boy is crazy !” she exclaimed. “ Whenever 
I see him strike that attitude, I come at once to look 
after him. He is as proud of his thews and sinews 
as if we were still in the Middle Ages, or as if trials 
of strength and dragons and giants were every-day 
matters.’* 

‘‘ Mother,” he exclaimed, “ I don’t know a boy of 
my age as large and as strong as I am !” 

Is that any merit of yours ?” she said, reproach- 
fully. “ If it were not unmotherly and unchristian, 
I would wish that we might have a war as soon as 
he gets his commission, so as to work off some of 
his superfluous vigor. But he’s a good boy,” she 
continued, patting his cheek, — ‘‘ the best of them all.” 

‘‘ The best of them all” number three ! Happy 
mother, who thinks each of her children ‘‘the best 
of them all but I am by no means sure that this 
open praise is very good for the children. 

I have not yet spoken of Gertrude. She did not look 
very presentable, and her costume gave me the im- 
pression that her mother had not thought it worth 
while to make much effort to beautify her. The white 
frock was of a bad color, and the little short-waisted 
figure looked very much as though dressed in a sack 
drawn in at the waist. She is not destined to make 
much sensation in the “ gay world.” Would that she 
were educated for home instead of for society ! I made 
use of one of the pauses in the dancing to question 
Frau von Loben about my original friend, Frau von 
6 


62 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


Sclionau. Before she could reply, the lady herself rose 
from her seat, put her arm in mine, and drew me away. 

‘^Ask no questions about me, save of myself,” she 
said. Most people have no judgment; indeed, they 
hardly know themselves, — what can they know of 
others ? Now, tell me what you want to hear about 
me.” 

I was somewhat embarrassed by this unusual pro- 
ceeding. 

I don’t know, exactly,” I replied, half provoked. 
‘‘ It is natural, when people seem worth taking an 
interest in, to strive to learn something of them.” 

Search the matter for yourself, then,” she said. 
‘‘You have plenty of good sense; and, if it serves 
you in one case, it surely can in others. It is mS*e 
just, more interesting, and more satisfactory to see 
with one’s own eyes than with those of others. What 
people say of me is utter nonsense, — I know it all by 
heart. Don’t ask anybody else about me.” 

She spoke half laughingly, half warningly, and I 
yielded. The ball went on; the hours fled; no one 
seemed at all weary. It was all very different from 
the simple and unpretending ball of my childhood. 
No home-made cake and raspberry wine, — no, indeed! 
Ice-creams of various kinds, fancy cakes, and a bowl of 
punch. Just when I supposed the ball over, and was 
thinking, in surprise, of the late hour to which it had 
been prolonged, supper was announced. You should 
have seen the young gentlemen, from five to thirteen 
years old (Joachim and Dietrich I except, of course), 
rushing in search of their favorite fair ones ; how here, 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


63 


as in older companies, little intrigues and plots were 
resorted to to gain this or that cavalier ; how some 
modestly hung back, and some pushed themselves 
forward. Little coteries were formed ; one especial 
group of the elite separated entirely from the mass 
of the company; the arrogant were supported, the 
diffident thrust aside, and honest admiration changed 
into politic homage. Were these really children, 
assembled for harmless amusement, or were they 
little men and women, and ten years older than their 
apparent age ? Well schooled, indeed, will these 
girls be when they enter society ! Accustomed to 
ball-room tricks from their earliest childhood, thor- 
oughly familiar with vanity and coquetry, what won- 
ders of fashionable art will they present! So much 
complaint is made of the blase characters of our 
young people — does not the cause lie in this early 
dissipation ? You know, my dear Count, how apt I am 
plainly to speak my thoughts. I had been handed 
to a place next to the master of the house, and could 
not help expressing some of my reflections. 

“ I thought you seemed perfectly carried away by 
the universal enjoyment,” he said, with some sur- 
prise. I acknowledged that I had been so at first, 
but could not help losing sight of the fairy-like beauty 
of the scene, as I thought of the pernicious conse- 
quences that would surely result from it. 

'‘You and my wife differ, then,” he said. "She 
looks on the poetic side of life, p.nd regards pleasure 
as the brightest star that illumines our earthly pil- 
grimage.” 


64 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


“ I do not think that pleasure should be made the 
ruling idea of life/' I said. 

“ It is so already," said the President. “ Money 
and pleasure are the ruling divinities of the whole 
world, and, unfortunately, are usually closely con- 
nected. At any rate, it is difficult to have pleasure 
without money, though we certainly can have money 
without pleasure. We see no more fresh, bright, 
unaffected happiness, overflowing in merriment and 
frolic. No, there is a sort of pretentiousness about 
it all ; and on this rock is wrecked all self-forgetful- 
ness, — one of the truest sources of a cheerful, happy 
nature ! How we frolicked when we were children ! 
But now no one blows soap-bubbles, even, — except 
gilded ones !" 

He spoke these sad truths in the most unconcerned 
manner, — as though they were not of the slightest 
consequence. I looked at the man in surprise. No 
trace of frivolity lay on the grave, melancholy fea- 
tures, only a sort of resignation and a look of deep 
weariness. 

I was brought up very differently," he continued, 
but my children belong to the present generation, 
and must fight their own way. It will not be an easy 
task for them ; these are evil times. Everywhere the 
waves are swelling above the old tide-marks. Per- 
haps they may, if they ever ebb, leave fertile land 
behind them, — but that will not be in our day, — and 
how many of our darlings may perish in the overflow !" 

‘‘ They should be strengthened for the struggle," I 
said. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


65 


And how ?’* 

‘‘ By careful training. Why cast aside excellent cus- 
toms because they belong to the past ?” 

''It is hard to battle against new ways and ideas. 
Which should be the first one attacked ?’' 

" Useless extravagance !” interrupted Frau von 
Schonau. He shrugged his shoulders. 

" Do you think/’ he said, turning to me, " that a 
mother’s tender heart can consent to see her little 
ones worse dressed than their childish companions, 
or to deny them pleasures that all other children 
have ? Can a housekeeper’s pride bear to entertain 
her guests less handsomely than she herself is enter- 
tained ? It requires true strength of character to be 
above these trivialities ; a most desirable quality, but 
one now rarely found. Only try such reforms ; at 
once the cry arises. ' But that is the fashion, — that 
must be done !’ Fashion is a heavier chain than that 
which fetters the galley-slave ; and there you have 
the third grand watchword of the day, — fashion, 
money, and pleasure.” 

" I thought freedom was another ?” I said. 

" It is shouted the loudest of all,” he said ; " but, 
unhappily, tyranny is looked for where it does not 
exist, instead of in its real strongholds, and so true 
freedom is rarely gained. To seek is the lot of every 
one, but I have never met a man who had found the 
object of his search and was contented with it.” 

He had made a sad impression upon me, as I said; 
but rather because I thought him in ill health, and 
from the contrast to his blooming little partner in the 
6 * 


66 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


dance, than from any suspicion, which now entered 
my mind for the first time, that a melancholy, world- 
weary spirit dwelt in the frail tenement. I expressed 
something of the sort, of course putting it in such a 
form as to give no offense. 

“ The child begged, her mamma seconded the pe- 
tition, and it is very hard for me to refuse. Indeed, 
I think that is my greatest failing.” 

I thought so myself, and afterwards found in this 
failing a key to many things that would otherwise 
have surprised me, including the splendid supper ; 
for no amount of wealth could justify or excuse its 
injudiciousness. Champagne being the fashionable 
drink, it was there in profusion ; and I could not but 
wonder at the skill with which Joachim opened one 
bottle after another. 

Don’t let them have toe much,” said the President, 
across the table, to his wife. 

Oh, no ; Dietrich will see to that,” she answered, 
reassuringly, rising as she spoke, to see that the chil- 
dren all had a full supply. She came over to us 
presently in great enthusiasm. “ How well you 
look !” she said to her husband. '' But you ought 
to go among the children more. You cannot imagine 
how amusing it is to listen to their conversation; 
they talk precisely like grown people.” 

Grown people already! never to be children! and, 
yet, ‘‘of such is the kingdom of heaven,” I thought 
to- myself 

“ What do you think George said to me?” she con- 
tinued. “ I asked why he took little Lieschen Metz- 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


67 


ner in to supper, — she is such an ugly little thing, — 
and he answered, ‘ I had to, mamma ; you know 
she has money’ !” 

Frau von Schonau expressed her opinion that a 
good flogging would prove a potent charm to exor- 
cise the demon of gold-worship. The President, 
laughing, agreed with her. Frau von Loben cried, 
in horror, What are you thinking of? A flogging ! 
to a royal cadet ! What would become of his sense 
of honor and his self-respect ?” 

'' Royal cadet !” replied the old lady; royal little 
fool. The flogging wouldn’t hurt his sense of honor, 
I can answer for it.” 

Frau von Loben shrugged her shoulders, and re- 
turned to the subject of the little heiress. 

She will not want for offers when she grows up, 
though she is ugly. Money and beauty rarely go 
together. Well, the kind Father, who placed her in 
the world, will not forget her !” 

How much the ‘‘kind Father” is required to do! 
I should reverence him none the less sincerely did 
He omit to perform one-half of what is expected of 
Him. How much, unspeakably much, more does He 
do than we deserve 1 

When supper was over, the music recommenced. 

“I am going!” said Frau von Schonau. “It is 
twelve o’clock, and the children are actually going to 
begin dancing again. Did you ever hear of such 
madness ?” 

I shook my head. 

“ You are prudent,” she said; “but it is of no avail; 


68 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


your face betrays that you are of my opinion. You 
wear a long pelerine to conceal a physical defect; but 
truth needs no concealment, — she is fairest unveiled.’^ 

Again the keen gray eyes rested piercingly on me, 
as if once more to see whether the supposed wound 
she probed so mercilessly were really as little sensi- 
tive as it appeared. I held out my hand. 

'' Do feel my pulse,’' I said, '' and see that it beats 
none the quicker, and convince yourself once for all 
that I am neither hurt nor angry ; then we need not 
always be talking of my deformity. I love and prize 
truth, and never knowingly sin against her; but, if I 
understood you rightly, you, yourself, said that a light 
garment took away nothing from her beauty, and se- 
cured her more followers than if she appeared ” 

In classic nakedness,” she interrupted. ‘‘ That may 
be so ; but under the veil of refinement many a lie 
passes for truth, and, indeed, the days we live in seem 
to me but one great lie. But you are much younger 
than I am, so you have more need to be polite. I 
cannot wait any longer to see this thirst for pleasure 
rubbing the soft down from the cheek of the young 
fruit. So, good-night! I hope we shall see each 
other often.” 

She left without pausing to take leave of any one. 
Strange woman 1 I should like to know her better. 
Behind all her brusquerie there is a keen intellect 
and a good heart. I turned my attention once again 
to the company. They were still gayly dancing, 
without a sign of weariness, and unmindful of the 
obstacles laid in their way by Arthur and Clarchen, 


IT IS THE FASHIOH 69 

who were again displaying their wonderful talent for 
tumbling down. 

The ‘ German’ now !” said Dietrich, placing his 
partner, a little girl five years old, on a chair, and 
proceeding to draw down her pantalets, which had 
mounted up over the little bare knees. In this dance 
the largest girls were given as partners to the smallest 
boys, and vice versa, Arthur and Clarchen formed 
the sole exception. Dietrich led, but was consider- 
ably embarrassed by his tiny partner, upon whom he 
was compelled to mount guard, as the moment he 
left her side she toddled across the room to her 
mother, and shyly hid her face in her lap. At last I 
came to his aid, much to his relief. It really gave 
me pleasure to watch him, for I could not but admire 
the young man’s natural and childlike manner. But 
this sitting in rows and dancing in regular succes- 
sion did not seem to please the children. Dietrich 
had much trouble to preserve order. Everywhere 
deserters slipped from the ranks; so, seeing his 
authority menaced, he made a most masterly retreat. 

'‘Stand up, all of you !” he cried, stepping into the 
middle of the room. " I shall not tell you what you 
are to dance till I have counted three, and then ” 

The children sprang to their feet, their faces bright 
with expectation. 

"Stand perfectly still,” cried Dietrich once more. 
" One, two, three !” With the last word he shook a 
gigantic horn of bonbons, which Joachim handed to 
him, over the heads of the children. In an instant 
the floor seemed transformed into a bed of bright 


70 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


flowers, from which proceeded cries of delight and 
shouts of laughter. Even the mothers yielded to the 
general excitement, and, as eagerly as the children, 
fell upon the sweet booty, — though not for them- 
selves. 

The feast ended, at least, in true childish fashion. 
Yes, my dear friend, if pleasure were the great object 
of life it would be well to seek it eagerly ; but 
moderation! moderation in all things. We are run- 
ning with seven-league boots into extravagance and 
emptiness of all sorts, and moderation seems for- 
gotten. But I see the smile upon your face, which 
has so often warned me that before condemning 
others we should look upon ourselves with a keen, 
searching gaze. I understand the hint, and end at 
the same time my reflections and my letter. 


FOURTH LETTER. 


What strange things our hopes and wishes are! 
How fair seems the goal at which we are aiming! 
Only when we are close beside it do we see the 
shadow, — the shadow that seems inseparable from 
our earthly existence. And even if the shadow be 
not heavy, there is not that golden light which from 
a distance seemed to play around the object of our 
desires. My dear Count, there falls a dark shadow 
over my longed-for independence. I have to take my 
meals alone I And I don’t know anything more diffi- 
cult to do alone, except to quarrel. It is one of the 
hardest things in the world 1 Nothing tastes as it 
should ; I swallow everything so hot that it burns 
my mouth, and am done in two minutes ; and those 
two minutes seem spent on a desert island. Caro- 
line could help me ; but she obstinately refuses. I 
begged her, almost on my knees, to keep me com- 
pany; but she will not. She says it ^Usn’t proper.” 

“ Caroline,” I answered, ‘‘ we are both human 
beings ; we both have mouths ; you eat with a knife 
and fork, not with your fingers ; we often talk 
together, why should we not eat together? Do you 
think there will be separate heavens arranged for us?’' 

I don’t know about that,” she replied ; “ but here 
our stations are different.” 

in ) 


72 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


‘‘ But that is merely a conventionality ; I am willing 
to dispense with it.” 

If I were a lady, I would sit down willingly with 
you ; but, as I am not, I can’t. Nothing is right that 
does not become one’s station.” 

There is no use in arguing with Caroline; her 
sound logic is always too much for me. 

‘‘That is just how it is here in the city,” she con- 
tinued. “ Everything is so for show, that nothing 
seems what it really is.” I looked up, in expectancy, 
for her gossipy talk amuses me. “ The servants act as 
though they were ladies and gentlemen ; and as for 
the ladies and gentlemen themselves — ! Would you 
believe that the Frau Prasidentin’s cook will not go 
across the street until she has spent an hour in dress- 
ing herself? She fixes her hair in two puffs, — one is 
not enough, — and puts on a huge hoop petticoat; 
the little one she wears in the kitchen, which is 
always knocking things over, won’t do for the street, 
she says. If I was her mistress, I would not let 
her wear one, either in the street or in the kitchen. 
Laziness and labor, each has its own livery, and 
whoever adopts the livery of laziness will soon be 
in its service; and nobody can live either by playing 
lady or by being one.” 

“ Caroline, you are too severe ; you talk as though 
to be a mistress was to be lazy.” 

“Well, it isn’t much better,” she answered, “ the 
little bit they do. Giving orders and seeing after 
things is easier than working, I’m sure. But where 
the mistress is bad, the servants are sure to be so 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


71 

too. It is half the time the mistress’s fault when 
the servants are worthless.” 

“ Well, what can we do ?” I asked. 

“ How do I know? I’m not a mistress; if I was 
I could tell you,” was the dry reply. “ But I’ll tell 
you one thing, — my servants should do what I 
wanted, or I’d know the reason why.” 

“ But, Caroline,” I argued, ‘‘you judge entirely by 
the servants here in this house.” 

“ I see plenty besides them,” she answered ; “ they 
all dress up like rich people. Servants are the finest- 
dressed people in town. On Sundays you see silk 
bonnets all trimmed up with flowers on girls that are 
in the kitchen all the week, and often their whole 
month’s wages is on their backs. Women who stand 
six days at the wash-tub sail along on Sundays in 
silk and satin, — they all want to look like ladies, — 
and the ladies wear military jackets, so as to have 
something different. If the masters and mistresses 
would only all agree,” continued Caroline, “to hire 
no servant who wears a hoop-skirt, or ribbons in her 
hair, or flowers on her bonnet, there would be an end 
of all this nonsense ; but they themselves often eat 
cake when they cannot afford to pay for bread.” 

When I went to pay Frau von Loben a visit this 
afternoon (I go quite often now, and feel sincere and 
increasing interest in the family), I found her in the 
kitchen, in conversation with a lady whose back was 
turned towards me. I was about to withdraw. “Stop 
a moment,” said Frau von Loben; “I will have fin- 
ished in one instant.” The lady turned around ; to 

D 7 


74 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


quote Caroline, it was a face which left the kitchen 
only on Sundays. Above it rose a mighty structure 
of ribbons and flowers. I supposed that Frau von 
Loben had had some disagreement with her servant, 
and that the latter had ''given her notice,” and after- 
wards found that I was right. A most extraordinary 
difference it was, too. The woman had been very 
impertinent to Frau von Loben, and the latter had 
called her " a fool.” The offended servant replied 
that she was no fool, — that she was betrothed, and 
could be married any day she chose. Frau von 
Loben declared that it was perfectly possible to be a 
fool and yet to be engaged. The woman denied this 
well-known fact, and neither would give up her 
opinion. Finally the master was called, who declared 
Henrietta to be " not only a fool, but a great fool 
and the end of the business was that the girl, insulted 
in her dignity both as woman and as fiancee, had 
announced her intention of leaving at once. I must 
acknowledge that when Joachim told me this story, 
which he did in the drollest way imaginable, I laughed 
most heartily, although I could not but be surprised 
at a lady’s having descended either to a dispute with 
her servant or to the use of the terms employed by 
Frau von Loben. 

This is by no means the only scene of the sort that 
has taken place between the Prasidentin and her 
servants. Her quick temper, want of self-dependence, 
and easy-going ways are not calculated to make her 
inferiors respectful, or to restrain impertinence. I 
think nothing so contrary to dignity as inconsistency. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


7S 


To-day, kind; to-morrow, unjust, — to-day, a kiss ; to- 
morrow, a blow, — nothing done according to desert, 
but everything according to the humor of the mo- 
ment. No authority can be exerted by those who 
act thus. To look at the Prasidentin’s gentle face, 
and soft, smiling lips, to watch her affectionate, con- 
siderate manner, no one would suspect the storms 
of violence that sometimes come upon her, — beating 
down the barriers of kind feeling, almost of good 
breeding. But to return. My friend the Prasidentin 
seemed much depressed at the prospect of a new 
servant, that pet horror of all housekeepers. 

“ It is true,'* she said, that Henrietta was imper- 
tinent and deceitful ; but she was kind to the chil- 
dren, and I had taught her my ways. Now the 
whole thing has to be gone through with again." 

When I looked at the first applicant for the vacant 
situation, I judged that a quarrel with her would 
turn out a stormy matter, although she spoke in the 
most measured terms, and, for a woman of her class, 
used really refined language, talking almost with en- 
thusiasm of her love for children. 

‘‘Are you engaged to be married?" asked Frau 
von Loben, timidly. 

“ Not at this moment," was the reply, “ as I gave 
/twt notice when I left my last place. He was em- 
ployed in the family, but, as they live in the country 
and I wanted to come into the town, it was too far." 

Delightful frankness ! So it was only a question 
of propinquity. 

“ I care for no situation where they keep a man- 


76 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


servant/’ continued she. I aspire to something 
better than a waiter.” 

To my surprise, Frau von Loben, instead of dis- 
missing the woman at once, said, — 

“ We only have a man-servant who comes here for 
a portion of each day.” 

How old is he ?” 

‘‘ He has recently celebrated his ‘jubilee.’ ” 

“ It is a pity we are not allowed to celebrate them 
also,” said the woman. “ However, w^omen don’t 
like to acknowledge their age.” 

She laughed, and Frau von Loben smiled also. I 
could not but be amazed. The conversation with 
Henrietta was nothing to this sacrifice of all dignity. 
Even harsh words are not nearly so bad as this 
“ demeaning ourselves” — I can find no better ex- 
pression for it — to the level of our inferiors. I can 
hardly understand Frau von Loben, for it seems to 
me that she is really of an aesthetic nature ; but she 
is afraid of her servants, and her undignified mode of 
treating them spoils good ones, and renders her an 
easy prey to the bad. 

“ Well, do you think the place will suit you ?” said 
she, almost as though she were asking a favor. 

“ I will have to think about it. Where is my 
room ?” 

Frau von Loben opened the door of a chamber 
adjoining the kitcnen. 

“This little hole!” cried the woman, in horror. 
“ Why, it’s hardly large enough to turn around in ! 
And where would I put my piano ?” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


77 

‘‘A piano!” exclaimed Frau von Loben, in despair. 
“ That would never do.” 

I and my piano — my piano and I — we always go 
together,” said the servant. “One must have a little 
pleasure in this world.” 

“A piano I” cried Arthur. “Take her I take her ! 
do, dear mamma 1” 

“Take her!” echoed Clarchen. 

What a pity the two are brother and sister, and 
can never be husband and wife I But such marvelous 
unanimity of sentiment is not often found in married 
couples. 

“Yes, little ones. I’ll play for you to dance every 
evening, and I can sing, too,” said the servant. 

Frau von Loben’s judgment seemed entirely upset 
by the children’s delight, and she was actually on 
the point of committing the care of the family’s bodily 
needs to this musical monster. But I stepped boldly 
to the rescue. 

“ Children,” I said, “ whenever you want to dance, 
come to me ; I’ll play for you. Cooks who play the 
piano can be of no earthly use to any one.” 

Frau von Loben gave me a look full of gratitude, 
but the candidate for office bestowed upon me a 
withering glance. 

“Are you ready, Frau von Loben?” said I. 

“Yes, — we will not suit each other; good-morn- 
ing,’.’ she said, courageously. 

“ Can’t I come some other time, when the lady 
isn’t here ?” asked the woman. 

“ I’m always here,” I said, with unmoved gravity, 
7 * 


78 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


leading Frau von Loben out of her own kitchen. 
When we got into her sitting-room we both burst 
into a peal of irrepressible laughter, and I was about 
to explain my unwarrantable interference, when she 
interrupted me with earnest thanks for delivering her. 

“ What would have become of my poor husband 
with that dreadful jingling from morning to night? — 
for only think what sort of piano it must be ! But 
do you know, if it hadn’t been for you I should have 
taken her ?” 

Can you imagine such childish indecision of char- 
acter? She ended by retaining the insulted Henri- 
etta at an increase of wages. 

I won’t get a better one. I, at least, know her 
faults, and the few extra groschen she cheats me out 
of won’t ruin me.” 

I was silent, for I do not choose always to act the 
part of Mentor. A child’s character cannot easily 
be entirely altered, — only guided and restrained; but 
when those to whom this task is confided them- 
selves need a leader, it usually goes ill with their 
charges. I cannot but notice more and more the 
thoughtless enjoyment, the objectless levity, the want 
of practical common sense, that distinguish the whole 
family. As we are in the midst of the Carnival, 
entertainments follow one another in rapid succession. 
That makes little difference to me, for, with the excep- 
tion of the Lobens, who treat me as one of their own 
family, and Frau von Schonau, I have formed not a 
solitary friendship. I have, as yet, received only 
superficial impressions, and shall wait until they 


ir IS THE FASHION. 


79 


deepen. I did not come here for society, although it 
is a difficult thing to dispc^ise with it entirely. Frau 
von Loben begged me most kindly to pass my un- 
occupied evenings with them. I agreed to do so, 
on conditions that I should be treated with no cere- 
mony, and that not the slightest change should be 
made in their arrangements on my account. I am to 
share their tea and take part in their reading; and I 
anticipate much pleasure in this sort of home-life 
that suits me so entirely. But I have been waiting for 
‘^unoccupied evenings,’' — not of my own, but of my 
hostess and her family. Meantime, I go to theatres 
and concerts, and pass an evening occasionally with 
Frau von Schonau. The Lobens are engaged at 
some ball or party almost every night, and if by 
chance one is left free, it is employed in repaying 
their obligations, — that is, in inviting those by whom 
they have been entertained ; and, as each party gives 
rise to a number of new ones, a perfect whirl of dis- 
sipation has been the result. I cannot imagine how 
the husband’s feeble health supports this constant 
strain. They have a numberless amount of acquaint- 
ances, — some of them official friends of the President, 
others made by choice or by chance. 

“ It is very natural, when you meet persons so 
often, to be introduced and to exchange visits,” said 
Frau von Loben to me; “but although there are so 
many one is compelled to invite, that surely should 
not prevent us from asking those we really wish to 
see. So, gradually, the circle grows larger and larger; 
and next winter, when Bertha makes her debut^ it will 


8o 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


be Still more extended. The poor child has very little 
pleasure now, for her approaching confirmation for* 
bids her going out, excepting to small parties.” 

But Bertha doesn’t stay at home on that account. 

Don’t you find it difficult to keep the children in 
order?” I asked her, one day, supposing that she 
took charge of them while their parents were at 
parties. 

“ You don’t expect me to stay at home with them?’' 
she exclaimed, in amazement. 

She either spends the evening with some of her 
friends, or they come to see her. 

“ It is very nice to stay home occasionally, or when 
you are sick, or old,” she once said to me, in her 
mother’s presence. 

The latter laughed, and said, ‘‘ You will think very 
differently when you are married.” 

The girl looked at her with genuine incredulity. 

‘‘ Why, do you think differently ?” she asked. 

I was not surprised at the question. There is no 
domestic happiness here. How can there be, in this 
mad carnival season, and with those who devote all 
their energies to making a satisfactory return for the 
obligations under which their friends have placed 
them ? But how delightful will it be, at our last 
hour, to take leave of life with a peaceful conscience, 
bestowed by the sweet knowledge that we are not 
indebted to any one, even for a cup of tea ! How 
often do we think of our indebtedness to God, or to 
ourselves ? 

Now let me tell you how matters go with the chil- 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


8l 


dren while their parents are plunged in this sea of 
gayety, and Bertha is amusing herself with her various 
friends. 

The other evening Caroline put her head in at my 
door in great alarm. 

“ Come, quickly !” she exclaimed. ‘‘ I’m afraid some- 
body will be hurt.” 

I heard, through the open door, a terrible noise, 
the cries of an excited, angry child, mingled with the 
shrill voice of a woman. I ran to Frau von Loben’s 
apartments as quickly as possible. As I entered the 
kitchen door I beheld a real idyllic scene of peaceful 
enjoyment. Entirely undisturbed by the uproar, 
three people were sitting around a well-covered tea- 
table. On it was the family tea-service. Henrietta 
was doing the honors, and her future (who has one 
of the worst faces I ever beheld) was contentedly 
dipping a cake in Frau von Loben’s particular cup, 
while the third — my old acquaintance, Johann Ehren- 
reich — had slipped on Herr von Loben’s handsome 
morning-gown to protect his own clothes from being 
soiled or greased. But it was most amusing to see 
their startled faces, as the three rose to their feet. 
I remained perfectly still, looking alternately at the 
tea-service and at Herr von Loben’s dressing-gown. 
The wearer was so thunderstruck that he could not 
speak, for some time. At last he pointed to the ras- 
cally countenance opposite to him, and stammered, — 
That is my best friend !” 

‘‘ And that is Herr von Loben’s dressing-gown,” 
replied I. And — unless you put it on to get your 


82 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


best friend to help you to beat it thoroughly — I 
would suggest your putting it back in its place/’ 

Before I had finished, the coat was off. 

Who is with the children ?” I asked Henrietta, 
for a most singular duet was audible from the nursery. 
Arthur’s voice was heard repeating, passionately, “ It 
isn’t true!” and the shrill female tones retorting, ‘Ht 
is, I tell you 1” 

‘‘Fraulein Hulda,” replied Henrietta. She often 
stays with them when their father and mother are 
not at home.” 

Fraulein Hulda?” That is the ‘‘sewing-girl” 
Arthur spoke of. The noise had quieted somewhat 
when I entered the nursery. Clarchen stood in a 
corner, sobbing and frightened, and Gertrude seemed 
striving to comfort her. Fraulein Hulda, crimson 
with anger, was still in hot contest with Arthur: the 
very ribbon on her head waved backwards and for- 
wards like a streamer with the violence of her con- 
tradiction. The child was stamping with rage, till I 
really thought that he would burst the leather of his 
little boots. 

“ Why don’t you do it with both feet? that’s still 
prettier,” I said to him. He thought I was in earnest, 
but fell into a new paroxysm of fury on finding that 
his violent stamping was thereby changed into mere 
jumping up and down. Blind with passion, he rushed 
at Hulda with both little fists clenched; but, ere he 
could reach her, I had caught him by the wrists, 
and held him fast. “Aren’t you ashamed?” I said. 
^‘Little boys should never strike.” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


83 


It's all because Clarchen wouldn’t eat her bread- 
and-milk, and I stood her in the corner,” said Hulda. 

He struck me till I saw sparks.” 

That’s not so !” burst forth Arthur, indignantly. 

We are not to tell stories — and she does ; for if she 
really had seen sparks, we could have seen them too.” 

I quieted the child with some difficulty, and, draw- 
ing the bowl of bread-and-milk towards me, sat down 
and took Clarchen on my lap. 

We’ll eat it together, shall we?” I said. “You 
take a spoonful first, and then I’ll take one.” 

The bread-and-milk was miserably prepared, and 
really I did not wonder that the child had refused it; 
but she now began to eat quite obediently, and a little 
smile dawned through her tears. I sent Hulda off, 
and remained myself with the children. The room 
was in dire confusion. Dolls, toys, portions of the 
children’s wardrobe, — everything lay topsy-turvy. 

“ I will put it in order,” said Gertrude. “ I won’t go 
to sleep till it’s all nicely done.” 

The honest little face showed her sincerity, but I 
said that I preferred that the children should do it 
together. The two younger were more zealous than 
skilful, but I could not but admire Gertrude’s gentle, 
sisterly way with them. When they had all gone to 
bed, I called Henrietta, and tried to appeal’ to her 
conscience. If it did no good, it at least would do 
no harm ; and if we see people going the wrong path 
we can surely point them to the right one, if we can 
do no more. I told her at the same time that I cer- 
tainly should report the occurrence to her mistress. 


84 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


I did SO. The two delinquents received a sharp re- 
primand from their employers, and there the matter 
ended. Johann Ehrenreich fulfils his usual duties, 
I meet Henrietta’s future constantly, coming from 
visits to his lady-love, and probably they still have 
their tea-drinkings in style. I have warned the 
Lobens, but I certainly shall not make a detective 
officer of myself for their benefit. I have done one 
thing more ; I have begged that the children may be 
permitted to stay with me when I am at home and 
their parents are out, — which is, as I have already said, 
an every-day, or rather every-night, occurrence. They 
are lovely children, and give me no trouble. Ger- 
trude studies her lessons here, and, when they are 
learned, brings her doll and occupies herself with that. 
She is always quietly busy; I scarcely know that she 
is in the room. 

Arthur’s favorite amusement is playing soldier, 
and Clarchen is his army. I open my sleeping-room 
door, and they march backwards and forwards, Clar- 
chen leading the way, Arthur following with a waving 
banner, and shouting in the most extraordinary style 
about king and fatherland, battles and glory, and all 
the other respectable, old phrases. Unfortunately, 
Clarchen cannot go as fast as he can, and he occa- 
sionally, in his eagerness, runs over her; so she has 
now adopted the plan of tumbling down voluntarily 
when she sees no other means of escape. They are 
devoted to each other, and rarely quarrel ; but some- 
times they do, and then I have to play peacemaker, 
and lay aside my book, my work, or the letter I am 


IT IS THE FASHIOH 


85 


writing to you. I have to do so now, for there is a 
terrible uproar going on. If you only could see me ! 
My quiet is all gone, but my heart is not heavy, — 
no, it beats as lightly as the children’s own; and I 
wonder more and more at the mother who can care 
for outside pleasures when such sweet ones lie so 
near, — where she need only stretch out her hand to 
pluck these fresh, young blossoms from the tree of 
life. 


FIFTH LETTER. 


Do you know whom I like best of all the people 
here? Old Frau von Schonau. She is very brusque, 
— more brusque than sharp-tongued, — and her honor- 
able, resolute character forms a great contrast to the 
* insipidity of most society people. I do not mean to 
uphold roughness of manner or sharpness of tongue; 
they are far from commendable, and surely espe- 
cially so in our sex, and usually are, rather, signs 
of want of good breeding than of strength of intel- 
lect, which is perfectly compatible with dignity and 
refinement. But Frau von Schonau reminds me of 
a gnarled, old oak-tree among precisely-trimmed 
hedges. How wonderfully natural does the old tree’s 
knotted trunk appear by contrast, and how picturesque 
the weather-beaten limbs with their straggling foliage ! 
I think that very often sympathy is discovered in- 
stantaneously. If it be not too deeply concealed by 
conventionalities, this accord is felt on the first con- 
tact; and we should strive to keep it up, in spite of 
the disappointments or dissensions that may arise on 
a closer acquaintance; for from this sympathy a 
strong, real friendship may arise. It is true that it 
needs some character to draw closer this bond of 
attachment and not to let it slip from our hold ; for, 
although it is with the heart that we form attach- 
( 86 ) 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


87 


ments, it is not with the heart that we retain them. 
The heart is a very vacillating, wavering organ, de- 
pending on the impression of the moment, and should 
be inclosed in character as in a locket. Natures 
lacking this, love, to-day hotly, to-morrow less so, 
the next day not at all, then more passionately than 
ever, according to the mood of the moment, wanting 
the firm conviction of the worthiness of their love, 
the strong, quiet belief in its object. There is no 
dependence on these unreasoning but tender natures, 
which, chameleon-like, take the color of whatever 
object they approach, but lose that color when sepa- 
rated from it. Rather give me brusque, honest words, 
with a grasp of the hand, — an honest, hearty grasp; 
not the fashionable touch of the finger-tips, which 
makes one feel as if one’s hand were a frog or a toad, 
to be touched only with unwillingness and disgust. 

Since I met Frau von Schonau I have become com- 
pelled to wear my seal ring on my left hand. 

The old lady is a widow, lives entirely alone, and 
has no means save her widow’s allowance. She 
would not take the advice of her husband’s friends, 
and petition the king for an extra pension. 

** The poor man has enough to give to,” was her 
unselfish, characteristic reply. ‘‘ I will neither be one 
of the rejected petitioners myself, nor the involuntary 
cause of having others rejected. I will cut my dresses 
shorter, and not let them sweep the pavements, and 
then they will last longer. I will manage to get 
along.” 

She occupies charming little apartments in a good 


88 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


neighborhood, and not high up, which would be in- 
convenient for her ; but they are back rooms, which 
of course reduces the rent amazingly. Do you know 
that this is considered quite disgraceful in her, and 
many of her acquaintances have ceased to visit her, 
because they look upon it as derogatory to their 
dignity to mount the back-stairs to see an honest 
woman who cuts her coat according to her cloth ? 
She is pleasantly and comfortably, though not luxu- 
riously, arranged. It is the same with her wardrobe. 
It is of plain, dark stuffs, and not at all conformed 
to the extravagancies of fashion. Her manner of 
life is simple ; her expenses are kept strictly within 
bounds, so as to allow her the luxury of a maid. 
When her husband died, she discharged all her ser- 
vants, and supplied their place with a little girl selected 
from among the orphans at the asylum. Whether it 
be that her choice was a good one, or whether it be 
that she has only her own admirable training to thank, 
certain it is that the maid has turned out a modest, 
efficient little servant. She has her work-table in her 
mistress’s room, takes her meals with her, and at 
night they read or work together by the light of the 
same lamp. This, too, is thought most unbecoming 
conduct; and many who would have borne with the 
back-stairs even, declared that ‘‘this was really too 
much.” Frau von Schonau only laughs, and says, — 

“Whoever doesn’t choose to come can stay away.” 

It is only natural, however, that these circumstances 
should affect her judgment of men and things. She 
is distantly connected with the President, and all his 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


89 


children call her ‘'aunt/' He esteems her most 
highly ; his wife is truly fond of her, although she 
tries to reason her out of her breaches of etiquette; 
and with the children she is on the most friendly 
terms. She is especially attached to Dietrich and 
Joachim : one reason of this is that she believes them 
in more peril from the pernicious ideas of the age 
than are the girls. She may be right. A young man 
must have great difficulty in retaining nowadays his 
individuality of opinion and character without allow- 
ing them to be affected by outside influences. Edu- 
cation might do much towards counteracting these 
influences, but usually is their most powerful ally. 

“ Education !" my old friend says. “ Good precept 
and bad example is education. Modern ways and 
ideas are like dragons ; whosoever falls unarmed into 
their clutches will feel their sharp fangs to the very 
bone. Nowadays morality goes clad in a silken gar- 
ment, instead of an impenetrable panoply. True men 
and women are but rarely met with. Words pass for 
deeds, shadows for substance, spoiled and petted sons 
and daughters of fashion are the founders and guiders 
of the rising generation. Children,” — she meant 
Joachim and Dietrich, — “be exceptions to the rule; 
and you, Bertha, take Gertrude for an example. She 
promises to become a true woman, — quiet, gentle, 
unaffected, and industrious, full of care and thought- 
fulness for others : the house that calls her mistress 
will be a Jiome ^ — not a booth at a fair, full of tinsel 
and glitter.” 

The children are deeply attached to her, in spite 
8 * 


90 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


of these long lectures, which is the best proof of her 
true kindness and philanthropy. I enjoy my inter- 
course with her extremely, and take the greatest 
pleasure in the quiet hours we pass together. She 
enlarges my views and my knowledge of life by her 
extended sympathies and experience. She passed 
yesterday evening with me ; we took coffee with 
Frau von Loben, and then, as she and her husband 
were going to a party, Frau von Schonau and myself 
adjourned to my rooms. We had enjoyed our chat 
very much with the Prasidentin, although my old 
friend told her that her coffee was miserable, and 
divined from the coffee-grounds that she took no 
trouble about her housekeeping and had a bad cook. 
As my old friend and I sat at tea, Joachim’s light, 
quick step was heard on the stairs, as he bounded up 
singing,— 

“ Since I looked upon her, sight has fled from me.'* 

** Sense has fled from me,” said Frau von Schonau. 

Here comes a fool in embryo.” 

Caroline opened the door, and we heard her say 
to him, — 

‘‘You had better come and take tea with the Frau- 
lein, young sir. Your sister has company, and your 
father and mother are out. Supper is over, but we 
can find you something to eat ” 

“Eat! Caroline, you have never loved!” And he 
rushed up-stairs to his own room. 

“ I don’t see what that has to do with supper,” was 
audible, in rather offended accents, as Caroline closed 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


91 


the door. My old friend and I burst into a hearty 
peal of laughter. This reminds me to tell you of 
Joachim’s latest flame. According to family tradi- 
tion, from his sixth year he has been in love, in rapid 
succession, with every imaginable specimen of the 
opposite sex, of every possible age and position. The 
present sovereign of his heart is the wife of the 
English ambassador. Naturally, he worships merely 
from a distance, — usually from the street-corners, or 
from among the crowd of idlers who, on court-days, 
assemble before her residence to see the beautiful 
Englishwoman enter her carriage. It is the most 
innocent adoration imaginable, — though a somewhat 
expensive one, as it drives poor Joachim to visiting 
concerts and theatres, whither he goes, dressed in the 
most elaborate fashion, in hopes of having a glimpse 
of his charmer. More than once the boy has had the 
impudence to send her, anonymously, magnificent 
bouquets, arranged by the most fashionable florist 
here. I don’t know whether he intends to send his 
photograph some day in one of these floral tributes, 
but he certainly has his picture taken every week or 
so, and in the most varied and astonishing attitudes 
of which the human frame is capable. When he 
studies, I don’t know. His pocket-money must be 
entirely spent at the photographer’s. I believe his 
mother pays for his concert- and theatre-tickets. 

But a youth of sixteen cannot live on love, as was 
shortly proved to us, for in ten minutes Joachim was 
down-stairs again. 

I thought you’d change your mind,” was Caro- 


92 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


line’s greeting to him : so I haven’t cleared off yet. 
Go right in: the Frau Geheirnerathin is with the 
Fraulein.” 

He knocked at the door, and, opening it, sang, in a 
drawling tone, — 

** To a ball my parents both have gone, 

And have left me here at home alone; 

There is no supper at all for me, 

And I’m as hungry as I can be,” 

and came laughingly in. 

“ Cold roast beef — delightful !” he exclaimed, eye- 
ing my table with the air of a connoisseur. 

'‘Yes,” said Frau von Schonau, "once a gay 
young calf like you. So there you see the end of 
all things ” 

"Of all calves, you mean,” laughed Joachim. 

The old lady did not allow herself to be checked ; 
but it did not in the least affect the boy’s appetite, — 
one piece of roast beef after another disappeared. At 
last he folded his napkin carefully and laid it aside. 
The old lady had come to a momentary pause in her 
lecture. Joachim put a sudden termination to it by 
half singing, half declaiming, — 

Croak ! Croak ! Croak ! 

’Tis a hundred years since I was young; 

I’ve quite forgotten how it feels, 

Or I’d not tease young people at their meals.” 

The old lady pulled his hair. 

" Ne’er-do-weel !” she said. " Call my words mere 
croaking if you choose ; but, if I be an old croaker, 
I only do my duty in giving warning of the morass, 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


93 

that so fine a gentleman as you may not be sunk in 
its depths. I have seen still finer ones lost in it.” 

Joachim laughed; but his laugh sounded forced, 
and when she had gone he gave vent to his anger. 

“ She really is an old croaker,” he said. “ She 
cannot understand a young man’s nature. No woman 
can : so ” He paused. 

‘‘ Go on,” I said, laughing. ‘‘ Give us the benefit 
of your experience.” 

So women had better not trouble themselves about 
young men at all. If I really were in debt, which 
she seems to imagine, I certainly should not tell her, 
to have her rush off with the news to my father and 
mother and distress them uselessly. I am no child ! 
I shall permit no one to interfere in my affairs.” 

I never would dream of doing such a thing,” I 
replied, greatly amused. 

He blushed, laughed confusedly, kissed my hand, 
paid some compliment to my good sense,” and 
bade me good-evening. 

“ ’Tis to me all one, ’tis to me all one, 

Whether I’ve money or have none,” 

I heard him singing up in his room. I have no 
objections to the song ; for surely nothing should be 
of less consequence to a sixteen-year- old boy than 
money. He who has nothing .should spend nothing. 
But that is not always the case. A feeling of anxiety 
and care arose in my heart. Care! Yes, care is the 
inseparable companion of family-life. And yet I 
wanted to part with care. It almost seems to me as 
though in doing that I should part with joy also. 


94 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


Joy and Care ! What are they but a sort of Janus ? 
We cannot cross the sacred threshold leading to this 
domestic happiness without sacrificing to the two- 
faced deity. If we close our eyes to the sad counte- 
nance, we close them to the joyful one also. 

Joy and Care ! everywhere they go hand-in-hand, 
and their alternate reign makes up the sum of our 
mortal life. In our hearts, in our homes, in the 
world, rule the coequal sovereigns ; but in heaven, 
Care will be deposed, and Joy will reign for ever and 
ever. 


SIXTH LETTER. 


When I went into the Lobens’ rooms to-day, I 
found the young people in great excitement over a 
half-jesting, half-serious quarrel, — if a quarrel can 
ever be a jesting one. Sometimes it hovers upon 
the boundary; but even then a thoughtless word can 
send it over the line. Fortunately, that was not the 
case here. 

‘‘Jackanapes!” said Joachim to Bertha, as I came 
in, interrupting by this not particularly elegant ex- 
pression a half-laughing discussion between Dietrich 
and Bertha, which the latter seemed on the point of 
changing into a serious one. “Jackanapes!” He 
said it so drolly that every one burst out laughing, 
save Bertha, who turned to him angrily. 

“ On the mother’s or the father’s side?” she re- 
torted. “ You strike yourself in aiming at me!” 

“Well, my charge was all right, but the gun missed 
fire,” said the unabashed Joachim, coolly. “ I wasn’t 
speaking of personal appearance, — only of mental 
qualities. But, now, come and ask my pardon!” 

Every one had to laugh at this ; even Bertha for- 
got her indignation at the appellation bestowed upon 
her. 

The discussion between Dietrich and Bertha was 
a rather absurd one. Bertha had expressed her great 
desire to be a man. I think almost all young girls 

(95 ) 


96 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


experience, some time or other, this feeling of dis- 
content with their sex. It is the longing for the free- 
dom which they imagine the opposite sex to enjoy. 
Home seems so narrow, — their world so small. 
Everywhere they are restrained by petty convention- 
alities ; and that is not all, — at least with imagina- 
tive characters : they admire the higher nature, as 
they suppose it to be, of man. For they see beings 
of their own creation, not men as they really are, 
and ascribe to them the noble qualities which exist 
only in their own idea. Their beau-ideal prefers ugly 
virtue to mere beauty, dances with all the wall- 
flowers at balls, without regard to age or appearance, 
never loves but once, and marries only for love. I 
give Bertha’s own words. 

If I only were a man!” she exclaimed, with 
sparkling eyes. ^‘To be a girl is too horrid!” 

''To be a horrid girl, certainly is,” replied Dietrich; 
"but a rich, beautiful, and charming one, — why not ?” 

" For some man to marry? That’s all we’re good 
for.” 

" Very often not even for that,” said Dietrich, 
laughing. 

" If I were a man, I know whom I should marry,” 
continued Bertha, thoughtfully. 

"Your tall friend Elsie, I suppose,” said Joachim. 
"Don’t you remember her?” he continued, turning 
to me. " That beanpole that my brother danced 
with the other night? It was real self-sacrifice on 
his part ; for she’s a head taller than he is, and her 
bones rattle like drumsticks as she dances.” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


97 


** She is worth you two together,” said Bertha, with 
sovereign contempt ‘‘ She is ugly, I acknowledge ; 
but when you know her, you forget her ugliness. 
Only you men don’t think in that way.” 

‘‘ Be a man first, and then give your opinion,” said 
Joachim. 

‘‘ Elsie certainly is a most excellent girl,” said 
Frau von Loben. 

“ Mother,” said Joachim, “ it makes me shiver to 
hear that expression! I know all about the ‘excel- 
lent girls ’ that all the mothers want for daughters-in- 
law. From their third year they took entire charge 
of the housekeeping, mended their little brothers’ 
and sisters’ stockings, and gave them moral lectures. 
They are propriety itself, — never speak ill of any 
one, stand up for the maligned, and couldn’t make a 
joke to save their lives. They sit up just as straight 
in church on Sunday as they do on the sofa at home, 
and never change their position. No, indeed, mamma; 
when you say an ‘ excellent girl,’ with that peculiar 
expression, I know at once she’s a scarecrow ; and 
Bertha may say what she pleases, she woiild7i't marry 
her if she were a man.” 

“ But it wasn’t on account of marriage I wanted to 
be a man,” replied Bertha. “ It’s because I want to 
enjoy myself, and be just as wild and merry as I 
choose. With us, it’s always, ‘ This isn’t proper,’ and 
‘That is not the thing,’ — the horrible ‘proprieties’ 
block up every path. Nobody asks Dietrich about 
what he does. If I were a man I’d join the hus- 


E 


9 


98 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


** My regiment ?’' asked Dietrich. 

Yes; that is the nicest one.” 

** I wouldn’t permit it,” jested Dietrich. 

** I wouldn’t ask your permission,” she replied. 

*‘What!” he continued, ''allow myself to be made 
old by having a younger brother in the same regi- 
ment, and have to look after him besides ? No, in- 
deed !” 

" I should not give you that trouble, I assure 
you!” exclaimed Bertha. 

" It couldn’t be otherwise,” insisted Dietrich. " We 
would lodge together; I should keep a tight rein 
over you; I would take charge of your money; you 
shouldn’t have any night-key, and would have to be 
home at ten o’clock.” 

Bertha had listened, half amused, half angry; but 
the last clause brought her completely at bay. 

" I wouldn’t be your slave ! I’d have my own 
night-key, and come and go as I chose.” 

A ridiculous squabble over the night-key ensued, 
and Bertha became so excited that one easily might 
have imagined her, as she seemed to imagine her- 
self, a young ensign defending his rights against a 
domineering lieutenant-brother, until Joachim’s ex- 
clamation of " Jackanapes 1” recalled the young girl 
to herself 

The world is full of dissensions over as trifling 
subjects as this; only, unfortunately, these quarrels 
are not always confined to the home-circle, and are 
not so laughable as this one. All the anger and bit- 
terness in the world, the strife between individuals, 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


99 


the struggles of the many, could they but be traced 
back to first causes, spring from almost as trifling 
sources as this. Strife, or, to speak more correctly, 
contest, is, I think, a necessity; powers are thereby 
strengthened, which in quiet, resistless sufferance 
would lose their force. The President often seems to 
me an example of this loss of power, and the impres- 
sion is deepened as I see more of him in his own home, 
and see how even the crowning blessing of life — 
the happiness of loving and being loved — lies like a 
weight upon his shoulders. His wife is his treasure; 
the object of his life is to make hers a happy one. 
Therefore he yields to her love of society, and, to 
spare her strength for it, takes upon himself as much 
of the household cares as a man with dignity can, — 
perhaps more. He is, of course, owing to his posi- 
tion, much occupied, and is absent for a great part 
of the day. He attends to a large portion of his 
business in the early morning, to avoid disturbing 
his wife’s company in the evening; so he is compelled 
to rise extremely early. Gertrude prepares his coffee 
for him. Always quietly obliging, and thoughtful of 
others, she is, in her small way, a true woman. Frau 
von Loben sleeps late, — she is nervous, and cannot 
stand early rising. Her excitable nature is equally 
opposed to going early to rest, and she thinks it 
very strange that her husband is unwilling to sit up 
two or three hours after returning late with her from 
a party. 

He used to read aloud to me until I was sleepy,” 
she said. But now his voice is too weak. At least, 


lOO 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


that is the excuse he makes/’ she added, confiden- 
tially; ‘'but I think the truth is, he prefers going to 
bed” 

I said something about his delicate health re- 
quiring some care. 

" Do you think him delicate?” she asked, anxiously. 

I did not know what answer to make, so shrugged 
my shoulders in lieu of reply. 

“ He appears so to you, I suppose, as he does to 
every stranger,” she said, trying to reassure herself; 
“ but he has always been thin, and has had that cough 
for a long time : it is not a dangerous cough at all. 
He looks delicate, but his constitution is very strong. 
If I did not know that, I should be worried to death 
about him. I don’t believe I could live — I should 
go mad, if Heaven took him from me.” 

“ Don’t tempt Providence by calling its rights in 
question,” I said, involuntarily. 

Again the look of deep anxiety overspread her 
face, and she answered, — 

“ I do not wish to do so; but I cannot believe that 
God would take from me my dearest treasure. I have 
that firm confidence ; it will not be disappointed. 
Oh, what a conversation !” she said, giving herself a 
little shake, as if to shake off all anxiety and care. 
“ I don’t like to talk about such things. It makes 
me ill.” 

Her husband entered at this moment ; she fell 
sobbing into his arms. He was shocked and sur- 
prised. 

Are you sick?” she asked. "Is there any cause 


IT IS THE FASHION, lOl 

for me to be anxious about you ? Don’t work so 

much. Give up your office ” 

My child,” he interrupted, what are you dis- 
tressing yourself so about? Nothing is the matter 
with me. Be happy and enjoy yourself while you 
can. When sorrow comes will be soon enough to 
think of it.” 

“ You are right,” she said. 

I think he is not right. Such a contradictory nature, 
such a vacillating character, such a superficial spirit, 
should not be thus coaxed and soothed like a child. 
No, she needs discipline to call up her slumbering 
powers. The eye that has gazed only on the bright 
side of life shrinks appalled from the gathering dark- 
ness. The foot from whose pathway every stone 
has been removed will stumble at last over a grain 
of sand. He is doing wrong; and I told him so, 
plainly, when he took occasion to beg me to divert 
his wife’s mind from all gloomy thoughts. 

I love to see her happy, and if sad days be in 
store for her, they will come soon enough. Why 
should we anticipate them ? I may live many years 
longer. My disease is not necessarily fatal. I have 
heard of cases of consumption being cured in people 
older than myself. I am so necessary to my family,” 
he continued. ‘‘My children cannot spare me; they 
are all unprovided for, as yet; and how would my 
wife even pay for the education of the little ones out 
of a widow’s pension, not to speak of the great ex- 
pense of living nowadays ?” 

I could scarcely conceal my surprise. Did he really 

9 * 


102 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


mean that his salary was his sole possession, and that 
he had absolutely nothing to leave his family? Then 
what madness to live fully up to his income, to ac- 
custom his children to every luxury, and to bring 
them up ignorant of such a thing as self-denial! But 
is it self-denial to wear calico instead of silk ? to give 
up this mad carnival dissipation, ruinous alike to 
health and to the taste for quieter enjoyments, and to 
content oneself with pleasures more reasonable and 
more suitable for youth? Is it a disadvantage for a 
young girl to offer by her simple, fresh attire a con- 
trast to her bedizened friends and companions? Does 
maidenhood need these costly ornaments ? Is not a 
sparkling eye more beautiful than a brilliant diamond? 
an innocent, happy smile purer than the most precious 
pearl ? Does it render a young girl less charming if, 
amid the superficial and conventional intercourse of 
society, she accidentally reveal a treasure of higher 
sentiments and deeper feelings, which, instinctively, 
she has striven to conceal from those who could not 
appreciate them ? Is it a disgrace to the little hand 
in its spotless glove if at home it is active in preserv- 
ing the grace and beauty of home, in making small 
means go further, or in providing for itself the pleas- 
ures that young hearts enjoy so much? There is a 
strange contradiction in the fact that so much is 
made of the elegance and comfort of home, when the 
very means are neglected which would supply them 
even in the lack of large fortunes. Why, one could 
count the girls who make or mend their own clothes 
or dresses, knitting is totally abolished, and either a 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


103 


servant or the harassed mother undertakes what 
formerly would have been the daughter’s greatest 
pride. How can they find time for such homely 
occupations amid concerts, balls, suppers, and all this 
fever for pleasure ? How can they succeed in culti- 
vating a germ of industry amid the rank growth of 
mental idleness ? I think even wealthy parents are 
much to blame in permitting their children’s future 
happiness and position to depend on the uncertain 
basis of riches, and in omitting to give them a nobler 
dowry, — one that puts to shame mere gold and silver, 
for it can do far more ; it can secure content. But 
the father whose sole income is his salary, the mother 
who loses in her husband the provider, — how must 
they look forvVard to death, knowing that their chil- 
dren have been brought up unable to deny them- 
selves luxuries which they will have no means to 
obtain ! How must they feel, in contemplating the 
uncertain future of their daughters, the unsafe path- 
way their sons are treading ! How often is a frivo- 
lous, thoughtless youth followed by a loveless, lonely, 
sorrowful old age ! Poor girls rarely marry nowa- 
days. Men require too much, and women can do 
too little. Even love keeps step with the ideas of the 
day, and material worth far outweighs moral in the 
scales. Then what is to become of the young girls 
whose happiness, as well as their position, depends 
thus as it were on chance ? Noble natures may 
struggle through and find their place at last; for 
there is a place for all of us in the world, if we 
can only find it; and to make this easier is the task 


104 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


of a sensible bringing-up. Build up sound rr.inds in 
children, by training them to moderation ; teach them 
not to look upon self-denial as a martyrdom, but to 
regard content as daily bread and pleasure as the ex- 
ception, to distinguish show from beauty, to implant 
trust in the Creator and trust in their own strength, 
love of activity, and love of order in activity, — I mean 
to preserve it from aimlessness : thus armed, they may 
go forth to the battle of life sure of victory. 

I repeat to you almost word for word a conversa- 
tion which I had with Frau von Loben, and which 
I brought about intentionally; for I will at least 
strive to sow the good seed, even though it should 
never bear fruit. Frau von Loben agreed with me 
in all my views, but then added, in the most naive 
manner, — 

“But, if this is to be done, we should have to 
isolate ourselves, and live like hermits; and that 
would never do. Bertha is going to be very pretty. 
Should I withdraw her from the world ? Then she 
would lose all chance of marrying well, — the chief 
consideration for a girl. To live in the world and 
be regardless of its customs is impossible, also. 
And it's bad enough not to be rich, but is that any 
reason why we should not associate with those 
who are ? And that compels a certain degree of 
extravagance." 

I said I did not see how it compelled it ; for surely 
the pleasure in mutual intercourse was not lessened 
by the fact of living within one’s means. 

“ But," she answered, “ I cannot offer a cup of 


JT IS THE FASHION. 


lOS 


tea to those who give me oysters and champagne. I 
should die of mortification. You wouldn’t do it, 
either.” 

I don’t know,” I answered ; “ but I think I would 
not let these ideas govern my choice of society. 
People are thrown together; they have their customs 
and manners of life, regulated by taste and by circum- 
stances. I share those of my friends and acquaint- 
ances ; they in turn share mine. Social intercourse 
should be a pleasure, a relaxation, — not a burden.” 

“ People have not all the same views,” she answered, 
“ Different experiences bring about different conclu- 
sions. My husband’s position decides my friends, 
and fashion decides the mode of our reciprocal enter- 
tainments. I cannot depart from the rule of all my 
circle, and surely cannot require Bertha to be differ- 
ent from her young friends. It is apt to cause a 
feeling of bitterness. I often say to her, ‘You are 
not rich ; you can’t have what rich girls have ; and 
it makes little difference if you have a necklace or a 
bracelet more or less, if you have as many as are 
necessary.’ ” 

I could not help asking, rather sarcastically, “And 
what is the necessary number of bracelets, for in- 
stance ?” 

She took the question entirely seriously, and an- 
swered, — 

“ Well, now that they wear open sleeves, one on 
each arm is absolutely required. When they wore 
coat-sleeves it made less difference.” 

I broke off the conversation, feeling that it was 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


I d6 

mere waste of words. I am heartily sorry for the 
children; for I see what distorted ideas of poverty 
and riches, and what false shame, are daily instilled 
into them. I will at least try to be of some use to 
the little ones, for Bertha has no fancy for me, and 
as for the two eldest boys, I am not yet zealous 
enough to seek in officers of the Guards and young 
students converts to my theory of moderation. I 
only hope life may not prove a hard schoolmaster to 
them. I take deep interest in all the children. Their 
natural originality of character offers a happy con- 
trast to the folly with which they are surrounded. 

My niece regards the children as created solely 
for her pleasure," said Frau von Schonau to me, the 
other day. “She is pleased with everything they do. 
If Dietrich lives in so extravagant a style that it is 
impossible for him to keep out of debt, she admires 
his grace and popularity; the cadet’s lips are kissed 
for each new impertinence they utter; and as for 

Joachim and his English lady ! Well, the pitcher 

goes often to the spring, but it is broken at last; 

and when it is broken ’’ 

“When it is broken," I interrupted, “we may still 
dip up a sweet draught with the fragments, and feel 
that it is worth far more than the perishable vessel." 


SEVENTH LETTER. 


You remember my fondness for family portraits. 
Even if we do not know the originals, and if the 
time in which they lived be long past, yet it is a 
pleasure to gaze on the features which seem to look 
back with such composure, challenging us, as it were, 
to read their history in their faces. Not long since, 
I was in the President’s apartment, whither Frau von 
Loben took me to see a very beautiful arm-chair 
which she had embroidered for her husband. The 
gift was another proof of her singular childishness, 
but rather the want of reflection than the youthful 
simplicity peculiar to childhood. The cushions are 
of rich and elaborate bead-work. The princess of the 
fairy-tale, who felt the solitary pea under the heap of 
mattresses, would not have found this a comfortable 
resting-place ; and when Frau von Loben told me that 
her husband was so much attached to his old arm- 
chair that he could not make up his mind to replace 
it by the new one, I easily imagined the cause of his 
unwillingness. The poor man is as thin as a skeleton, 
and his wife, in the kindness of his heart, works him 
a chair in beads ! 

I soon exhausted my admiration of the useless 
and beautiful piece of furniture, and turned with 
more interest to the portraits on the wall. There 
were pictures of celebrated statesmen and scholars, 

(107) 


io8 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


youthful friends of the President, and others. There 
were photographs and daguerreotypes of the children, 
and a handsome painting of Frau von Loben, taken in 
her youth, and another of her husband, painted at 
about the same time. I could easily satisfy Frau 
von Loben’s desire that I should admire the portrait 
of her husband; he must have been a very handsome 
man ere ill health had altered him. A portrait of his 
first wife hung over his writing-table ; it was almost 
concealed by a lamp placed before it, — an arrange- 
ment of Frau von Loben’s, as she confided to me, 
lest he should forget his seoond wife in contemplating 
the portrait of his first. I could not but admire the 
gentle, kindly expression, but was much amused with 
another picture, evidently taken when daguerreotypes 
were first invented. It was that of a middle-aged 
woman; she sat upright, in appalling stiffness; her 
features were cloudy, her eyes had neither color, light, 
nor expression ; one hand grasped a little table by 
her side, the other a book which lay in her lap. It 
was the portrait of a widowed sister-in-law of the 
President, on whom rest the family expectations. 
She is rich, has the liver-complaint, and is disgusted 
with life and its frivolous pursuits and pleasures. 
But those who are weary of life are not always the 
first to die, and those who are disgusted with the 
world are, if the truth were but known, not generally 
in such a hurry to quit it. Her grief for the early 
death of her husband, for whom she still wears 
mourning, only increases with time, and, it appears, 
has caused her misanthropic turn of mind. At least 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


109 


SO say her two eldest nephews, who, when I met 
them on the train, were just returning from a visit to 
her. She possesses, besides her income, a handsome 
estate. It is said that her husband desired this to 
become the property of his nephew Dietrich at her 
death, and, from the aunt’s constant complaints of the 
difficulties attending the management of so large a 
property, Frau von Loben’s sanguine nature hopes 
that she may conclude to present it to the young man 
during her lifetime. Her maiden name was Deckler; 
Frau von Loben pronounces it “ de Clair,” leaving 
her hearers to recognize therein, if they can, the 
name of a well-known manufacturer. 

I suppose you have heard enough about the aunt; 
so now I shall tell you a long story about Herr von 
Loben’s mother. Her portrait hangs over the sofa, 
and is so speaking a picture that involuntarily I felt 
convinced that it was an excellent likeness. A hand- 
some, intelligent, proud, grave face, iron firmness 
written on every feature, eyes that look almost de-^ 
fiantly at the observer, and yet with a certain sorrow- 
ful expression beneath their defiance. Love for love, 
hate for hate, unforgiving, unforgetting ; so I read 
her character. Whether my conclusions were cor- 
rect, you shall judge for yourself She did not marry 
until quite late in life. She had been early left an 
orphan, and, until a few years before her marriage, 
lived with her stepbrother, who was younger than 
herself Though they did not even bear the same 
name, there was sincere love and sympathy between 
them. Elizabeth was only a few years older than 


10 


no 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


Alexander; but those few years, and the earlier ma- 
turity of her sex, made her hold a sort of authority 
over him. This, of course, ceased when he attained 
majority, and she changed the authority of elder sister 
for that of mistress of his house. What I am about 
to relate was first made known to her children through 
a journal found after her death, and was the first in- 
timation they had of the circumstances which had 
deeply affected their mother’s life. 

When quite young, and happy in their mutual 
affection, the two had exchanged a vow never to 
marry. She was poor, he was rich, and thus they 
could enjoy life together. He would undertake 
the charge of her means, as well as of his own; 
she would care for his domestic affairs; both looked 
forward to a happy life together, and rejoiced in the 
wisdom of their singular plan. Whether Elizabeth was 
naturally indifferent to men, or whether it was merely 
by chance that Alexander was the first to recognize 
the impossibility of keeping the rash vow, I do not 
know. But it was the brother who first discovered 
that there had been a void in his heart which the 
sister’s love could not satisfy, and that that void was 
now filled. It was both right and natural for him to 
seek Elizabeth as the confidante of his sudden pas- 
sion, feeling sure that she would sympathize with him, 
and proving his confidence in the strength of their 
mutual affection by this trust in her. He was mistaken, 
Elizabeth’s first feeling was disappointment. She de- 
clared herself deeply wounded and most unjustly 
treated, and that he offered her a beggar’s portion for 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


III 


the wealth of love which he owed to her. Accustomed 
to frankness of speech, and forgetful of his feelings, she 
burst forth into reproaches and lamentations, telling 
him that such a step would deprive her of the place 
which she had been taught to regard as her own, and 
which their mutual vow secured to her. It is strange 
how easily we are blinded with passion, and how, 
when we have formed an opinion beforehand, every 
circumstance is distorted to confirm us in it. From 
Elizabeth’s own account (and she gives the conversa- 
tion as it occurred, only afterwards adding her own 
false conclusions), nothing could have been more 
affectionate, gentle, and considerate than Alexander’s 
conduct in his difficult position. It is easy to perceive 
the shock he felt at the unexpected chasm which 
opened between them. One cannot but recoil from 
the egotistical obstinacy which would have compelled 
his fulfilment of the rash and unreasonable vow ; and 
it is not hard to comprehend how this first misunder- 
standing, this opposing view of the most sacred duties 
and interests, finally grew to a complete estrange- 
ment. He told her frankly the goal at which he 
aimed ; hers was in the opposite direction. Can any 
one blame him for refusing to believe that the winding 
by-path of intrigue could ever lead to any worthy 
object? Fate had willed that Alexander’s love was 
won by Elizabeth’s most intimate friend, the daughter 
of the owner of a neighboring estate. The girl was 
much younger than Elizabeth, and was in many 
things very deferential to her friend. Her heart 
had for a long time ceased to be her own, but 


II2 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


she had required a solemn promise from Elizabeth 
never to betray the secret confided to her. Even 
when her brother told her of his attachment, she 
felt bound to say nothing of this, and, consequently, 
her assurances that she knew he would be rejected, 
her advice that he should conquer his attachment, 
for which, however, she refused to give any grounds, 
rendered him suspicious. He questioned her closely, 
but she evaded a reply. 

‘‘ Very well,” he said, at last ; “ I know your rea- 
sons; your love is a selfish one. You are unwilling 
for me to marry? Yes or no?” 

‘‘Yes,” she replied, without a moment’s thought. 

The brother said not a word more, but at once 
sought the hand of the young girl he loved, to the 
delight of her parents and to her own great distress. 
She begged Elizabeth for assistance, still withholding 
her permission to inform Alexander of her previous 
attachment. Feminine delicacy, and many other rea- 
sons, most of them utterly groundless, rendered that 
course repugnant to her. She was unwilling to betray 
her secret, and unwilling to give an answer where no 
direct question had as yet been asked. She hoped 
that he would understand the truth from her man- 
n„'r; but Alexander was blinded by his own attach- 
ment ; her parents’ reception of him was so favorable, 
her own conduct so hesitating and uncertain, that, 
as Elizabeth herself says, it was not difficult to con- 
strue it encouragingly. And when she attempted to 
explain its true meaning to her brother, he only 
replied by a cold smile, and a request that she 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


II3 

would not interfere. At last Elizabeth took a des- 
perate resolution. She wrote to the object of her 
friend’s attachment, explaining the whole matter. The 
letter was put into the hands of a servant to post. 
A note of her brother’s, as it happened, had been 
forgotten. Alexander rode after the messenger, over- 
took him, and in placing his own letter in the mail- 
bag saw that of his sister. He read the address, was 
surprised at her writing to a person with whom he 
knew she had but little acquaintance, and determined 
to ask her about it on his return, but forgot to do so. 
He never thought of it again until he read the notice 
of his young neighbor’s betrothal to the man to 
whom Elizabeth had written. Trembling with ex- 
citement, and commanding himself with difficulty, he 
went, with the notice in his hand, to his sister, and 
coldly and briefly explained to her his suspicions. 

“You wrote to this man some time since. Do not 
deny it. I saw the letter. Is this,” pointing to the 
notice in his hand, “ the result of that letter?” 

She assented without hesitation, and without ex- 
plaining the cause of her action, which she was too 
proud to do. He threw the paper at her feet, ex- 
claiming, — 

“Intriguer! selfish intriguer! Your love I now 
fully understand and appreciate. It was a mere 
speculation, an unworthy thirst for power!” 

He left the room. A few moments afterwards, she 
heard the sound of his horse’s hoofs, and hastened to 
the window ; he was just riding away, and she never 
saw him again. She never forgave or forgot the in- 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


1 14 

justice, although it had arisen from a mistake, and 
although the offender was the one she loved best in 
the world. She quitted their home the same day, 
and went to the house of an old friend, where she re- 
mained while making the necessary arrangements to 
obtain possession of her little patrimony and to carry 
out the line of conduct she had decided upon. She 
wrote a farewell to her brother, still without giving 
any explanation. 

That I am no selfish intriguer I will prove. I 
wish nothing from you ; neither love, nor those things 
that love gives and receives without thinking of their 
value. What I did was right. I would do the same 
again. You alone are the offender. You alone, who 
added insult to a broken word ! Farewell forever 
She sent the letter, and departed for England, 
where she soon obtained a situation as governess, for 
which her education fitted her most admirably. She 
was fortunate in being in a family where her worth 
was appreciated, and where a position was given her 
not often vouchsafed in England to governesses. 
When her office as instructress was finished, the 
family begged her to remain with them as friend and 
companion. Her pride restrained her; it was mightier 
than her tenderer instincts, for the reproach of selfish- 
ness still lay bitterly on her heart. She weighed 
everything on an exact scale, and received nothing 
that she could not repay. Friendship for friendship, 
well and good; but a life of ease and enjoyment in 
a wealthy home, that was what she could not return, 
and so the bargain (for thus she regarded it) was 


IT IS THE FASHIOH. 


II5 

not concluded. Her brothers never-forgotten insult 
made her establish a false system of self judgment. 
She did not perceive the exposed place where his 
sharp words justly struck home; it was against 
other points that she armed herself Not recognizing 
the fact that love can be selfish, she directed all her 
warfare against that lower, meaner type of selfishness 
which enriches itself at the expense of others. That 
she really was selfish in her love never struck her, 
but the dread lest she might appear so in worldly 
matters drove her forth once again among strangers 

About this time she met with an attache of one of 
the legations ; he, fascinated by her beauty and intel 
ligence, offered her his hand, and her heart, feeling 
for the first time the glow of passion, learned at last 
the whole purifying, ennobling might of a real love. 
‘‘ Heart for heart,” — she could calculate no longer ! 
One would imagine that now her own attachment 
would teach her to forgive her brother’s apparent 
breach of faith, — but no ! Enveloped and bound up 
in her own web of false reasoning, she still clung to 
her obstinate self-righteousness, and said to herself, 
I am free, he was not. I would have kept my vow, 
not from ‘selfish speculation,’ but because I had 
pledged my word ; nay, more, my heart would have 
craved no love save his.” 

So she married. She lived in England for a long 
time, and both her sons were born there. Her hus- 
band had a brilliant career, became ambassador, and 
his wife’s position was a prominent one. Her diary 
contains most interesting accounts of her sojourn at 


ii6 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


the various courts. The early tragedy of her life seems 
almost forgotten. When her brother’s name is men- 
tioned, it is always with triumphant reflections on the 
brilliancy of that life which his unkindness had at one 
time threatened to blight forever. Not once does she 
express the wish to see him again, or to be reconciled 
to him. On the contrary, she expresses her satisfac 
tion that they have never met, and that her residence 
in a foreign country renders their so doing improb- 
able. For her he is dead, and she even rejoices that, 
from the dissimilarity of their names, no one would be 
apt to suspect relationship. She, of course, confided 
the whole affair to her husband, but demanded from 
him a promise that he would reject all overtures of 
reconciliation ; and that promise she required him to 
repeat by the cradle of their eldest child. She wished 
to be more separated from Alexander than ever, if 
possible, lest he should again reproach her with selfish 
designs on his large fortune, — this time for the sake 
of her son. She firmly resolved never to permit any 
acquaintance between her children and her nearest 
and dearest living relative,” as she had formerly called 
Alexander. She was the last of her line, and the 
family name died with her. 

It was somewhat inconsistent with her stern, re- 
lentless conduct that, although she never spoke of 
Alexander to her children, she did not destroy the 
journal through which they might learn of him. It 
almost seems as though she desired the feud to be 
buried with her; although no word or hint in the 
book justifies this surmise. The records close at the 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


II7 

death of her husband. The last line is written in a 
trembling hand; it is the day and the hour of his 
decease. 

The rest of the story Frau von Loben told me. 
Elizabeth returned to Germany, and, for her sons’ 
sake, dwelt in one of the largest towns, but never laid 
aside her mourning, and never entered society again. 
Her husband had left her in straitened circumstances, 
and she pinched herself to the uttermost to advance 
the education of her sons. She was everything to 
them, — mother. Mentor, friend. She guided their 
steps, and followed them when they no longer re- 
quired guidance. They well ^repaid her care. She 
lived until the birth of her three eldest grandchildren ; 
then the death-angel came, and stilled a heart that 
had in many ways been a kind and a warm one, — 
in whose hate and revenge, even, there lingered a 
spark of that love which had kindled both. Its 
treasures had been condemned as counterfeit, and 
never did it recover from the bankruptcy which it 
experienced amid the wealth and splendor of youth 
and the extravagance of affection. The unexplained 
misunderstanding, the unpardoned injustice, are buried 
in her grave, and doubtless she now sees and mourns 
over her own hardness of heart and short-sightedness. 
She died in the full enjoyment of all her faculties. 
Her children’s worldly inheritance was small, and 
certainly the one whom I know has little of the 
strength of character and consistency that, properly 
used, make a man, to some degree, the arbiter of 
his fortunes. Whether she had forgotten the diary, 


ii8 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


postponed its destruction, or purposely left open to 
her children the path she had refused to tread, no one 
can tell. Both brothers agreed to take no steps in 
the matter, and, consequently, instituted no inquiries 
for the uncle whose name even was unknown to them. 
Indeed, Herr von Loben was very desirous of having 
the journal destroyed, but his wife protested, and her 
coaxing caresses, as usual, carried the day. I learned 
all this from Frau von Loben, who read the journal 
to me on seeing my admiration of Elizabeth’s portrait. 
I had not made any remonstrance as to the propriety 
of the proceeding beforehand, and, of course, could 
not do so afterwards. Certainly in the President’s 
gentle heart there is no trace of the old enmity ; and 
as for the children, you can judge for yourself, from 
the conversation which followed their mother’s recital. 

If she wasn’t my grandmother, and wasn’t dead,” 
said Joachim, who always uses that form when criti- 
cising authorities, I’d say she ought to have been 
ashamed of her pride, which did nobody any good, 
and of her revenge, which did her innocent grand- 
children so much harm. I am sure our granduncle 
is a jolly old fellow.” 

Joachim !” said his mother, how can you talk 
so disrespectfully?” 

But she laughed as she said it, and he composedly 
replied, — 

I’m not talking of my grandmother ; I only say 
what I would think if she wasn't my grandmother. 
And as for my uncle. I’m certain he’d have no objec- 
tions to being called a ‘jolly old fellow;’ I’m sure 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


II9 

jolly fellows are better than poor fellows, — and that’s 
what we’re going to be, unless we find our rich uncle, 
or unless our disconsolate aunt, who is so tired of life, 
concludes to quit it.” 

‘‘ Disconsolate widows are much more apt to marry 
again than to die,” said I, maliciously. 

‘‘Very likely; an old bachelor like myself is no 
judge of such matters,” replied the little imp. And 
Frau von Loben added, — 

“ She won’t marry again ; her husband has been 
dead three years, and she is still in deep mourning. 
She is a better chance for us than the uncle, who, I 
suppose, will never turn up, and who, besides, has 
probably married.” 

But Bertha protested that this was impossible. 
The unknown uncle is her beau-ideal, and she de- 
clares herself sure that he has remained faithful to his 
first love. 

A portrait which was found among his sister’s 
papers, and which, although she says nothing about 
it, is supposed to be that of Alexander, Bertha has, 
to quote Joachim, “confiscated,” and keeps it among 
her little treasures. She brought it for me to see. 
The face was strangely familiar, and I am sure I must 
have seen it somewhere. I am not apt to indulge in 
romantic dreams, either waking or sleeping, but those 
grave, deep eyes I have either seen or dreamed. ^ I 
must have met with the original, but where I cannot 
imagine. Bertha became greatly excited when I said 
this; she told me that “I must try and think, — I 
must help her to find him out.” 


120 


IT IS THE lASmOH. 


Bertha has fallen in love with his picture,” said 
Joachim, teasingly. 

‘‘ Nonsense ! I only think it would be charming to 
have an old uncle, and to be his pet.” 

‘‘And do you flatter yourself that yo 2 i would be 
so?” said Joachim, consequentially. 

“ You wouldn’t, at all events. Young men never 
want uncles for anything except to pay their debts ; 
so I would stand a fair chance. Old men always 
like young girls. Elsie’s grandfather’s whole face 
brightens the moment she appears; and I want to 
have some one whose face will brighten when I 
come in.” 

I smiled. 

“ I know what you want to say,” she continued, 
turning tome rather sharply. “You are going to 
tell me that it lies in every one’s power to make 
people glad to see them. But the way in which 
you mean it, I should have to strive to gain it by 
my own efforts; and I want it to come of its own 
accord.” 

No, she was wrong; I was not thinking of that. I 
was pleased, on the contrary, at the natural wish, — 
the young heart still longing for the purest joy of 
life, in spite of worldly bringing-up and injudicious 
influences. A face that brightens at sight of her! 
A worthy ambition. May she choose the right path 
to obtain it 1 

“ My dear child,” said Frau von Loben, “ every 
passably good-looking girl has that, sooner or later. 
Only wait till next winter.” 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


I2I 


Bertha shook her head. ‘‘ No, I don’t mean that, 
either ; I want something better still.” She paused 
for a minute, lost in thought, and then exclaimed, 
passionately, ‘‘And I would be his favorite, I know !” 

So saying, she took her picture and ran from the 
room, amidst the laughter of her brothers. Frau von 
Loben begged me to try and remember where I had 
seen the original of the portrait. Now that I no 
longer had the picture before me, I felt sure that 
what made it seem familiar was only the strong like- 
ness it bore to Bertha. Every one was much disap- 
pointed at this commonplace explanation, and I was 
compelled to blight Frau von Loben’s hope that 
through my instrumentality the “rich uncle” might 
come to light at last. I don’t like those words, 
“ rich aunt,” “ rich uncle,” which flow so glibly from 
the children’s lips, without, I hope, a full appreciation 
of their meaning. It is one of the trifles which show 
the general spirit of the times, — a spirit of loveless, 
selfish calculation. Often the words are used in 
thoughtless jest, but, ere one knows it, they cling fast 
to the memory, and as the ear grows accustomed to 
the sound, so does the heart to the meaning. Those 
words with the children are the principal pillars of 
their future. On these they have been taught to de- 
pend, instead of having axe and chisel given into 
their hands to build their fortunes for themselves. 
That they will have to do, nevertheless, for that the 
richest as well as the poorest must do ! But how 
much easier for those who have been early taught to 
depend on their own efforts! To prepare them for 

F 1 I 


122 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


these efforts is the duty of parents; for the rest, 
the world is wide, and there is room and material 
enough. May Heaven aid these children in their 
building! for their parents cannot or will not help 
them. 


EIGHTH LETTER. 


You certainly are well acquainted with human 
nature, my dear Count, for in no other way can I 
account for the kind letter I have just received. Yes, 
you have discovered that, in spite of the unrestrained 
way in which I have written to you, and in spite of 
our old acquaintance, it is a lonely sort of thing to 
write to any one without a consciousness of how or 
when our letters are received, or of what effect they 
produce, and without obtaining any impressions in 
return for those we give. It is like telling a story to 
a silent and invisible auditor. For a long time we 
go boldly on, but at last we think, “ To whom am I 
speaking? Is he listening? Do my words strike 
discordant notes, or has he gone to sleep in the 
midst of the story?’' It is strange that we rarely 
find pleasure in one-sided action, — our natures re- 
quire something that reacts upon them. The instru- 
ment that we touch must yield a sound; sparks 
must fly out from the flint; the clasp of the hand 
requires an answering clasp ; the eye seeks an under- 
standing glance from the eyes of others ; the voice 
that we send into the distance awaits an echo. Only 
death is dumb. Love and friendship, and faith in 
both, reach beyond the grave ; and in the fact that 
no answer can return to them from that unknown 
eternity, lies the whole bitterness of bereavement. A 

(123) 


124 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


thousand thanks, then, for your letter. The half- 
hour during which you spoke to me answers the 
months in which I have been the speaker. You are 
interested in my new friends; you wish to hear 
more about them ; so I go on telling you of them 
with renewed courage. 

My friendship with the family is steadily increasing, 
perhaps least of all with the member with whom an 
intimacy would seem most natural, although she 
overpowers me with the kindest proofs of her good 
will. The loveliest flowers bloom on my window, 
and I have to be careful how I express a wish in 
her presence, for it is at once fulfilled; and had I not 
decidedly declared that I must have at least my fore- 
noons to myself, there would have been an end of all 
my fine dreams of having my time at my own dis- 
posal, and of employing it in systematic, agreeable 
occupation. She came at all hours, early and late, — 
sometimes, she declared, only for a minute ; that 
she could not possibly stay away longer;’' but the 
moment was spun out to hours, and a passing ques- 
tion to an endless amount of gossip. 

Not that she wearied me; no, indeed. She is a 
piquante woman, if only from the strange and contrary 
mixture of which her character, or want of charac- 
ter, is composed. Her feelings are as fresh as those 
of a young girl, her actions as unreasoning as a 
child’s! You can love her or scold her, but the 
mutual understanding that is the foundation of true 
friendship is wanting. She seems to me like a whirl- 
wind, which draws everything along in its wild train ; 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


125 


but I cannot understand wherefore, nor do I feel the 
slightest desire to join in the mad dance. When 
Frau von Loben, with her inopportune benevolence, 
faultyjudgment, and excess of sentiment, raises these 
clouds of nonsense, I at first laugh, and then pity her, 
— still more her children, — most of all her husband. 
I do not believe that the latter is really happy, though 
he appears to be so. It requires a stronger nature 
than his to resist the influence of the whirlwind. He 
— poor fool — joins in the dance, and is almost suffo- 
cated with dust and rubbish ; and Death stands be- 
hind him, ready to claim his victim, which Frau von 
Loben decks and draws into the excitement of so- 
ciety, as though he would thereby be cheated of his 
prey. One would think her heartless, did she not 
prove the contrary ; and her conduct to her stepchil- 
dren does her great credit. Whether she in her heart 
makes any difference I do not know. She certainly 
shows no preference to her own, but is equally lenient 
to them all, especially to Dietrich. He is kindness 
itself towards the mother, — considerate, attentive, 
and scrupulously shields her faults. He has con- 
siderable influence over her; and as he, in common 
with many other people, keeps his sound judgment 
and sensible opinions rather for export than for pri- 
vate consumption, I have often noticed how he re- 
strains and checks her in many of her extravagancies, 
without her being conscious of it. 

Dietrich and I have grown great friends. At first, 
when he came to see his family and found them out, 
he very naturally came to my apartments to wait for 


126 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


them, would remain sometimes to tea, and gradually 
began to repeat the visits when he had nothing better 
to do. An hour is soon chatted away, and is only 
long to those lonely ones who distinguish between 
occupation and enjoyment and do not recognize the 
fact that they are dependent on each other. But would 
you believe that Frau von Loben actually undertakes 
to rally me about Dietrich’s visits, and gives glowing 
accounts of his esteem for me ? What a singular mania 
for distorting the most natural things in the world ! I 
am glad the young man finds pleasure in my society. 
When young people seek after and enjoy intercourse 
with those older than themselves, it is usually a sign 
of a thoughtful nature, a mind eager for knowledge, 
and seeking an equivalent for the thousand frivolities 
and faderies which beset their path. They gain ex- 
perience; we, freshness of feeling; so the bargain is 
a fair one. But Frau von Loben is not to be checked 
even by a reference to my age, for she takes every- 
thing so literally. Why, being old does not mean 
that we have outlived all enjoyment, all interest in 
life. I do not mean merely gray hair, by age. I 
mean the change from the pleasures of youth and the 
taste to enjoy them to those of riper years. I can- 
not laugh and cry in the same breath ; I cannot 
blow soap-bubbles, or build castles in the air with 
belief in their solidity ; but I can look at others doing 
these things, and enjoy it, too. It interests and re- 
freshes me; and I can understand the eagerness 
with which young natures long to solve for them- 
selves the enigmas of life, and the anxiety with which 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


127 


they look forward to the time to try their own 
pinions. Nothing is unimportant that is a part of 
human nature ; even folly becomes interesting. I 
think the young officer understands all this, and 
therefore bestows upon me from time to time an idle 
evening, not from politeness, to which I ascribe it as 
little as to the wonderful ‘‘ esteem’' which his step- 
mother declares him to entertain for me. But why 
should all emotions of the soul have a reason? Is 
there no such thing as intuitive action ? 

It is not difficult, however, to discover a reason for 
Joachim’s visits ; it is a very practical one. He comes 
for his supper; and, so far from being offended about 
it, it pleases me extremely. I don’t blame the poor boy 
for not enjoying the unpalatable tea prepared for him 
by the servant. Generally speaking, he eats nothing; 
but, when he is hungry, he comes straight to me; and 
I really believe that he is pining ; for he comes but 
seldom. He is not exactly himself, and his humor 
is most variable; from the greatest hilarity he de- 
scends to the deepest depression. I think he has a 
nature which, to be really happy, requires regular 
occupation and blameless conduct. 

Not long ago Bertha paid me a visit : however, she 
did not come of her own accord; Dietrich brought her. 

“ May I come in ?” he said. I came to see my 
parents, but they have gone to the house of one of 
my father’s employees, who expends about two-thirds 
of his small salary for the pleasure of boasting of the 
President’s presence at his entertainments. Every- 
thing in this world is vain.” 


128 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


And the lieutenant of the Guards the most so of 
all,” I interrupted. 

He laughed. 

Do you mean that he is vain, or that he belongs 
to those things which are vain because they are 
useless ?” 

A little of both,” I replied. 

During this skirmish, Bertha was standing in the 
background, looking rather embarrassed. 

‘‘ I found her,” said Dietrich, pointing to his sister, 
‘all alone, half asleep with ennui and discontent, 
and made her come with me.” 

The young girl looked at him with reproachful 
dismay. 

“Yes,” he repeated, “I made her come, for she 
was afraid to do so of her own accord.” 

“ I did not know whether to come or not,” she 
said, hesitatingly. 

“ She is so jealous and distrustful, — ^you would not 
believe how much so, — and where she cannot be first 
she always feels herself slighted,” said her brother, 
throwing himself comfortably into my particular 
arm-chair, from which I instantly dislodged him, 
giving him a seat elsewhere. 

“ That is not true,” exclaimed Bertha, excitedly, — 
then added, in some confusion, “ I don't know how 
to flatter people, and I don't like to go where I'm 
not invited.” 

I rose, got a card, and, writing on it, “ Fraulein 
Bertha von Loben is, once for all, invited for every 
unengaged evening by Hildegard von Schonerbrunn,” 


IT IS HIE FASHION. 


129 


handed it to her with a low courtesy. She read it, 
and a smile and a blush passed like sunshine over 
her pretty face ; then it darkened again, and she said, 
half-defiantly, “ I won’t come often. I’m no univer- 
sal favorite — like Gertrude,” she added, in a low 
voice. 

“ Whether you be so or not, there is one thing a 
universal favorite always should be,” I said, in a 
gentle voice intended to soften the reproof. 

‘‘ What do you mean ? What should a universal 
favorite always be ?” she asked. 

Trustful,” I replied. 

She shook her head slightly, and joined with less 
embarrassment in the subsequent conversation. She 
had no work, her hands rested in her lap or drummed 
idly on the table ; Gertrude was sewing diligently ; 
Arthur and Clarchen were building card houses; 
Dietrich had a sheet of paper before him, on which 
he was drawing caricatures ; I was knitting. 

Won’t you get your work, too ?” I asked. “ It 
seems so unsociable for you to be doing nothing; it 
looks as though you were going away directly.” 

She rose and left the room, but did not return. As 
I could not understand what the reason could be, 
and supposed that something had occurred to detain 
her, I sent Caroline after her. She returned with 
the message that the Fraulein was playing the piano! 
I laughed ; Dietrich sprang to his feet, and was about 
to hurry in search of her, but I would not permit 
him to do so, and restrained him from expressing his 
feelings by pointing silently to the children. He 

F* 


130 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


said nothing until my little guests had left me at nine 
o’clock, their usual bedtime. 

“The contrary child !” he exclaimed. “ She resents 
the slightest reproof, and rejects advice, as though 
she needed no guidance; and she does need it so 
sorely ! I beg you not to be repulsed by her,” he 
continued. “ Take an interest in her, and do not 
cease from counsel and reproof because they meet 
with so ungracious a reception.” 

“ Why should I ?” I replied. “ What is your sister 
or her peevishness to me ? She has her parents.” 

“ Her father is closely occupied, and in ill health ; 
her mother ” he hesitated. “ Her mother is in- 

consistent. So Bertha’s rudeness passes unreproved. 
It would be a good work, and one that I think would 
bring its own reward.” 

“Yes; judging from my recent experience, I should 
think I might expect most brilliant results. Again, 
why should I undertake it ? I want to have a calm, 
peaceful life, free from violent emotions, which I do 
not like; I am perfectly happy at being released from 
all care, all responsibility, and why should I volun- 
tarily assume them ? Should I place stones in my 
own path, only to bruise myself against them ? The 
guidance of the young I regard in any case as a 
difficult work, a task requiring the most extreme self- 
sacrifice, the most unselfish love, and one in which we 
must anticipate, and hope for, no thanks. Besides, 
the thanks are of little consequence ; for, if we suc- 
ceed, they lie in the work accomplished,: — if we fail^ 
they are, of course, valueless. Duty must be the 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


I3I 

motive power: duty does not call me in this case, 
and I cannot undertake it.’' 

‘‘ And yet my little brother and sister are with you 
every evening, and the good results of this intercourse 
are most evident. They cannot have improved so 
much of their own accord. Are not the little rogues 
‘ stones in your path’ ?” 

‘‘ No, — flowers rather,” I replied, heartily. 

Well, then, do take pity on the big, neglected 
plants also,” he said, laughing. 

‘"Are you one of them?” I answered. 

Perhaps. At any rate, I am conscious of many 
better thoughts and feelings since our acquaintance.” 

“ For example ?” I asked ; but his only reply was 
that they were more easily felt than expressed. 

Another thing which the young man told me as- 
tonished me extremely. It seems almost as though 
these people were struck with blindness. Each one 
does what seems to him pleasantest at the time ; the 
humor of the moment rules them, rather than the 
voice of reason. The idea of conquering evil traits, or, 
indeed, of taking any trouble upon themselves, never 
seems to enter their heads. Light must be the bur- 
den life lays upon them, easy must be the labor, 
great and unbounded the enjoyment; unrestrained 
freedom, result without preceding effort, — this is 
what each one desires and looks for, and unless the 
pigeons fly into their mouths already roasted, they 
consider it a very hard case indeed. The future is hid- 
den from our gaze ; why think of it in the enjoyment 
of the present ? And as for the past, it is over and 


132 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


gone, — best forget all about it. Such are their 
axioms. Listen, and judge for yourself There was 
a certain sum of money set aside by a distant rela- 
tion of the Lobens (who, dying without descendants, 
left his fortune in charity) for the benefit of the poorer 
members of the family. His object was to prepare 
them for any calling for which they seemed to have 
talent; and, as the founder himself was fond of agri- 
culture, especial advantages are offered to those who 
select this branch of industry. He who desires to 
study this, not only is given means to attend an agri- 
cultural academy and also to receive practical instruc- 
tion, but, on attaining a certain age, a sum of money 
is placed at his disposal, to be used either as security 
in renting a farm, or, if he prefer to purchase, as 
the first instalment of payment for the same, and in 
that case is gradually to be repaid to the fund. But 
he who selects either a diplomatic or a military ca- 
reer receives only three hundred thalers a year, which 
ceases as soon as his income has reached the sum of 
a thousand thalers. The intention of the testator was 
to supply assistance to the poorer members of his 
family, but not to secure them a means of subsistence 
without effort on their own part. Therefore he only 
provides moderate aid, and in some cases merely a 
loan ; the overplus is to be added to the capital ; and 
this is not to be used for the benefit of separate indi- 
viduals, but for the general interest of the largest 
number. Only a short time has elapsed since the 
death of the testator, and, consequently, the funds 
have not increased sufficiently to admit of aiding 


IT IS THE FASHIOH 


133 


more than one person at a time. The first to profit 
by this arrang^oment was the President’s elder brother, 
who, as he devoted himself to agriculture, enjoyed 
the fullest assistance, and, by means of this and of his 
wife’s fortune, succeeded in purchasing Lobenau,” 
an estate which formerly belonged to the family, and 
the one which I mentioned as now being the property 
of the ‘‘rich aunt.” Dietrich, who has the next claim 
to assistance, was educated to the same occupation 
as his uncle, and showed talent and fondness for it, 
only desiring to complete the time of his military 
service ere finishing his agricultural studies in a 
practical establishment. He entered a cavalry regi- 
ment, and, becoming fascinated by the romance of 
soldier life, the desire to remain in the service took 
strong possession of him. His father was much op- 
posed to this change ; he said that it would blight his 
son’s chances for a safe and prosperous future, giving 
him instead a career demanding great firmness of char- 
acter, requiring heavy expenditure of money to keep 
up a creditable appearance, and rewarding many sac- 
rifices only by empty honor. The father’s advice and 
Aunt Schonau’s prophecies were all of no avail. 
The mother, fascinated probably by the becoming 
uniform, pleaded hard for the young soldier, and the 
resistance of the weak husband was soon overcome. 

“ What an unreasonable man you are!” I exclaimed, 
when Dietrich had finished his recital. “ If your 
father really is, as you say, destitute of all means 
save his salary, you certainly have acted in a most 
unjustifiable manner.” 


12 


134 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


Well, I have the three hundred thalers, anyhow ; 
that is something,” was his reply. 

I told him he had far better resign his claims to 
them in Joachim’s behalf. 

‘'Joachim ! that bright fellow! No, Indeed! Joachim 
wants to study first, and then be a diplomatist.” 

As though one could not use his wits as well 
in the country as anywhere else, and as though 
scientific agriculture were not far more successful 
than ignorant agriculture.” 

“ Well, if it becomes necessary, I can still change 
my mind,” he said, laughing at my eagerness. “ I 
would have to be very industrious, though, for the 
examining committee is extremely strict.” 

“All the better; the testator did not design to estab- 
lish a sinecure for idle people.” 

“You are very severe,” he said, smiling. “You 
will be very strict with your sons.” 

“ My sons !” I looked so dumfounded at the mere 
idea that he laughed merrily. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said ; “ I thought you 
were one of those people with whom it is not neces- 
sary to measure every word ; but perhaps you think 
it not comnie-il-faut to speak of children to a single 
lady ?” 

“Oh, no,” I said, laughing in my turn ; “but I do 
think it rather superfluous to anticipate the bringing- 
up of people who will never exist. I have no inten- 
tion of marrying.” 

“ Do you hate men, or only despise them ?” he 
asked. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


135 


I hardly knew what reply to make, for I could not 
tell whether to think the man blind, or merely hypo- 
critical enough to be trying to flatter me. Does he 
think all women so crazy to be married,” or the 
“ holy estate of matrimony” so blissful a condition, 
that every one of us is willing and eager to assume 
the dignity of matronhood ? 

He was looking at me thoughtfully. 

‘‘You look like an English copper-plate engrav- 
ing,” he said, suddenly. “I beg your pardon,” he 
added, quickly. “ I know you are different from 
most women, and do not take every flattering speech 
for gospel truth; but you must not reverse the prin- 
ciple and take truth for flattery. May I tell you 
plainly the impression you make on me ?” 

“ Certainly, if it affords you any amusement,” I 
answered. 

“You really are a most extraordinary young lady.” 

I did not think it worth while to quarrel over the 
adjective, and so did not interrupt him. 

“You must have been educated in a totally dif- 
ferent school from our family. We children need 
bitterly some strong discipline. There is much 
good in us all, but we lack something to make that 
good available. One of us thinks that something too 
much trouble, — the other doesn’t even perceive the 
necessity. I mean myself and Bertha. Gertrude has 
found it instinctively, and the children are too young 
yet to judge of As for Joachim,” he shrugged his 
shoulders, “ I am sure he must spend more than his 
five thalers of pocket-money; but I can’t be too 


136 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


severe with him, lest I lose his confidence. Besides, 
five thalers is very little.’' 

“ Five thalers is not very little for a school-boy,” 
I said. 

“Estimations of money are very different,” he in- 
formed me. “ Not long ago a young lady asked me 
if it were true that there really were lieutenants who 
had debts to the amount of a hundred thalers. ‘ I only 
wish I were one of them !’ I thought to myself Simple 
child! What are a hundred thalers nowadays 1” 

“ When I came here, I supposed your father to be 
wealthy,” I said. 

“ Unfortunately, he is not,” he answered ; “ but he 
has a handsome salary. Indeed, if he should die — and 
he is so very delicate,” and the young officer’s voice 
grew sad and low, as though he disliked even to speak 
the words, “ I do not know what would become of 
the children. I am the only one whose education is 
finished, and even I do not stand on my own feet yet. 
Ah, well 1” and he made an impatient gesture, “ what 
is the use of worrying over it ? The fault lies in the 
times.” 

A singular idea! What makes the times? All 
complain of the despotic power, and all labor busily 
to forge the chain that binds them; and when the 
chain is not of gold, how they struggle to gild it ! 

My young friend had dismissed his sombre reflec- 
tions, and was resuming his usual light-hearted strain, 
when I sent him off, as I wanted to begin my letter 
to you, and it w'as growing late. From the room 
above rang Joachim’s voice in a merry song. He 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


137 


often sings until late in the night, and I have begged 
Dietrich not to prevent him. I love to hear such ex- 
pressions of happiness springing from a frank, inno- 
cent heart. And it does not disturb me, either; for 
if I am really tired it never keeps me awake. 

“ May I come again ?’* said Dietrich, as he rose to 
go. “ I have passed such a pleasant evening, and I 
don’t blame you in the least for frankly saying what 
you disapprove of in us. If you were in my place, 
you would have turned farmer; now, wouldn’t you?’’ 

I told him I decidedly thought he should still 
do so. The idea seemed to startle him considerably. 

‘‘ Now, when everything points to an imminent 
war!” he exclaimed. ‘‘Now, when at last the op- 
portunity seems at hand in which I can do honor to 
myself and to my profession ! Resign now! How 
can you advise such a thing?” 

“ My dear friend, there is time enough to talk 
about war. How often already has the voice of the 
bugle sounded only to die away in harmless echoes ? 
You have plenty of time to study, and, if war should 
break out meantime, what will prevent your joining 
the forces?” 

“ No, no ; I cannot resign 1” he exclaimed. “ I 
am a soldier, heart and soul ! I love my regiment ; 
I cannot leave my comrades. You do not know the 
strength of the tie that binds us. One for all, all for 
one. Our lives the king’s, — the present moment our 
own ! To-day rich, to-morrow poor, — hearts as light 
as our knapsacks. The greater the deficit in our 
purse, the more we trust to Fortune. Fortune is 
12* 


138 


JT IS THE FASHION. 


our goddess. To-day she helps one, to-morrow 
another.’' 

*‘And if some day she fail you altogether? Think 
of your parents, your penniless brothers and sisters!” 

‘‘Then I shall marry!” he said, lightly. 

“For money?” I asked, much disgusted. 

“ Oh, well, I wouldn’t take the very first one I 
met,” he said, apologetically. “ I would marry some 
one I liked well enough ; but a poor man can’t afford 
to marry for love. But I’m not obliged to resort to 
that yet awhile. Though the waves rise high around 
me, I can steer pretty well, or swim, if it come to 
that ; at all events, I trust to Fortune ! Who should 
trust to her, if not the young, — if not a soldier ?” 

He left me in a very thoughtful humor. 

“ And let the beaker be of gold 

rang Joachim’s voice through the quiet house. 

“And a sleeping-draught in it,” muttered Caroline, 
angrily, to herself She was just repeating, for the 
third time, her favorite manoeuvre of passing through 
my room, on some pretense or other, which she al- 
ways resorts to when she considers that I have been 
absorbed too late in reading, writing, or thought. I 
understood the hint, and went to bed, as an obedient 
servant of my servant, while the singer above me 
shouted so often, “ The lady whom I love, I do not 
name!” that the song haunted all my dreams, and, 
between sleepiness and recollection of my sex, be- 
came transformed into, “ The youth whom I name, I 
do not love !” And I hope that will continue to be 
the case. 


NINTH LETTER. 


Two important alterations in my monotonous life. 
I have commenced taking my meals with the Lobens, 
and I have, at Frau von Loben’s invitation, joined a 
sewing-circle to which she belongs. The prospect 
of my joining them at table was hailed with such de- 
light by the little ones, and so cordially urged by the 
older members, that I gladly consented to draw closer 
the bond that united me to the family. Now my 
meal-hours, formerly the most lonely of the whole 
day, are sources of real pleasure to me, and I enjoy 
them heartily, in spite of the frequent bad cooking. 
The children say precisely what comes into their 
heads, which certainly has the advantage of bringing 
to light all the nonsense that finds a lodging in their 
little brains, and renders it liable to correction ; al- 
though reproof is bestowed less by the parents upon 
the children, than by the children upon one another. 
These mutual corrections are not always administered 
in the gentlest way imaginable. Each one lectures 
the others, and, with the exception of Bertha, on 
whose moods it is impossible to count, there is gen- 
erally much humor displayed in the reception of 
these reciprocal reproofs. Gertrude, however, never 
blames, and is never blamed. 

'‘She’s too good for this world; she’ll die young,” 
says Joachim, teasingly. 


( 139 ) 


140 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


She’s stupid and tiresome,” says Bertha. Mamma 
calls her 'my family pack-horse,’ because she allows 
everything to be put upon her that is too heavy for 
the others to carry.” 

I congratulate the family that possesses such a 
" pack-horse,” such a docile, patient, gentle, cheerful 
creature, who sees no degradation in loving, volun- 
tary servitude. In spite of the numerous jests at her 
expense, and their rather contemptuous way of speak- 
ing of her, they all love her very dearly, and Bertha 
by no means the least of all. Apropos de Bertha, I 
must tell you that not long since she came volun- 
tarily to pay me a visit, and actually brought her 
work with her. She asked, somewhat confusedly, if 
she might stay. Of course I consented, and made 
no reference to her recent rather ill-tempered deser- 
tion. You know I have no desire to undertake the 
thankless office of a reformer of manners. Bertha 
will probably be restive for some time longer, but I 
think she will in the end lose her foolish sensitiveness. 

The Carnival is over, the " cream of society” is 
resting for awhile, and so it happens that Dietrich, 
one of that happy multitude, passes many free even- 
ings with me, which certainly proves that he is easily 
pleased. Now that the court-circle has sunk into 
Lenten repose, the smaller people begin to lift their 
heads, and, as Frau von Loben says, there is no hope 
of respite until Easter week. Bertha declares posi- 
tively that next year this must be changed ; she will 
not go to the house of every one and any one ; her 
parents must have themselves and her presented at 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


I4I 

court. Her mother is perfectly willing, her father is 
not. There was quite a scene on the subject the 
other day; but all the President's representations 
that he could not consent to an expense so far beyond 
his means, were of no avail. Frau von Loben en- 
deavors to convince herself, and her husband also, 
that it is a duty which he owes to his position, as well 
as to his daughter. She romanced about the brilliant 
results that might follow, and built air-castles up to 
the very clouds. Herr von Loben still shook his 
head disapprovingly. But Bertha put both arms 
around his neck, and coaxed and caressed so effect- 
ively that at last, with a resigned smile, he said, 
“ Well, well, children, if it gives you so much pleasure, 
let it be so." 

Frau von Loben rewarded the yielding nature of 
her husband by the expression of her hearty convic- 
tion that he was the very best man in the whole 
world; and I could not but think how weak was the 
‘‘ goodness" that knew no other way of giving pleas- 
ure than by granting every foolish, unreasonable 
wish. I thought on what this pleasure was founded, 
— the vainest, most frivolous, most childish things. 

Happiness and glass are easily broken," says the 
proverb. Such happiness certainly is. 

I think Herr von Loben must have read my 
thoughts in my face. ‘‘ It is a long time to next 
winter," he said, as if to himself, but he glanced at me, 
as though explaining his having yielded so readily. 

I think he is perfectly aware of his condition, 
and so a few promises more or less are of little 


142 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


consequence to him. Who will call him to account 
for his failure to keep them? No one, — here or 
hereafter. But he will be called to account for 
giving his children no other inheritance than castles 
in the air, and for being satisfied at seeing them 
happy in their possession. It is perfectly evident 
from his words and manner that he sees and dis- 
approves of the faults and follies of his family, but 
he has not the strength of character to breast the 
waves. There are many like him. Each one thinks, 
'^What can one do against so many?” And so it 
comes to pass that these numerous ones” do not 
bind themselves together in a strong breastwork to 
check the inroads of folly. There are so many asso- 
ciations for charitable objects, — why are there none 
for the bridling of luxury, of extravagant pleasures, 
of exaggerated fashion, that strives to transform a 
reasonable mortal into a motley peacock ? Why are 
there no associations to check the madness that would 
give the rights and duties of the man to the woman ? 
Why are there none against dishonest, inefficient 
servants,— against the evil literature that corrupts the 
taste either by its watery insipidity or by its false, 
wicked distortions of right and virtue ? 

The last thought leads me to some reflections on 
this class of literature. Splendid flowers bloom on 
the classic ground of poesy, lovely blossoms deck 
the island in the sea of life whither the Muse flies 
from the storms of the world, but access to it is open, 
and the island is overrun by every description of 
visitor. There are exceptions, of course, — some bril- 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


143 


liant exceptions, — but of the thousands crowding 
around the fountain that conceals in its depths the 
wisdom and treasures of all time, the generality draw 
up only water, and many — alas ! too many — disgust- 
ing monstrosities. One very singular and almost 
universal characteristic of these books strikes me 
strongly. It is not only the effort to bring before the 
reader all the dark, all the fallen traits of human 
nature, but the prejudiced or malicious endeavor to 
ascribe these traits especially to the higher classes. 
When elegance of manner is used to cloak vileness 
of thought, when hypocritical word covers evil deed, 
they make a more repulsive impression than brutality 
or violence born of misery or want, — than crimes 
which the criminal was never taught to regard as 
such, or to which he had been driven by strong temp- 
tation. There may be truth in some of these char- 
acters, and we condemn all the more severely those 
who have fallen from the heights ; but we must guard 
against judging the whole by single examples; and 
those who by word or pen work upon the feelings 
of the masses, should look well into their own hearts 
and examine whether there lurk not within them 
some prejudice or party feeling, those implacable foes 
to justice. Besides, there are truths by whose un- 
veiling no one is benefited, for it does nothing towards 
the improvement of the people, or the battle against 
coarseness, to expose to the world’s gaze these terrible 
examples of the distortion of which human nature 
is capable. We both belong to the higher classes,” 
my dear Count ; you have lived in and with the so- 


144 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


called great world, and, besides, as owner of a large 
estate, have been thrown into constant intercourse 
with the country nobility. Consequently, you have 
had most admirable opportunities to become ac- 
quainted with the “ aristocracy’’ in all their various 
degrees of culture. Pray tell me if you can trace the 
slightest likeness between their manners, mode of life, 
or language, and those ascribed to them in the type 
of book of which I have been speaking. I am sure 
that you will agree with me that the authors of such 
books either have never associated with the higher 
classes, or else are guilty of wilful misrepresentation, 
or, from narrow or unhappy experience, have judged 
the great mass with its endless varieties by a few of 
its worst specimens. Another singular axiom of such 
works seems to be that intelligence and rank are in- 
compatible, and that the accident of birth excludes 
the higher endowments. I cannot assent to this. I 
do not look upon stupidity as a privilege accorded 
only to the nobility, but rather as an undeserved mis- 
fortune, from which there are sufferers in all classes. 

You may imagine how surprised I was to find Ger- 
trude, a few days since, completely absorbed in a novel 
of the style I have been describing. 

“ I know nothing about the book,” said her mother, 
who, with Dietrich, was in the room, but neither of 
whom had taken the trouble to inquire into what 
the child was so eagerly devouring. Give it to me, 
Dietrich.” 

The young man had taken it from his little sister, 
and was glancing over it. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


145 


“ / know about it,” he answered. ‘‘ Don’t read it, 
mother ; such books don’t suit you. It would make 
you still angrier than the one you were reading the 
other day, where all the characters of noble birth 
had disagreeable voices, either rough or squeaking. 
A most remarkable trait of natural history,” he added, 
laughing, ‘‘ which I think could be disproved to any 
unprejudiced ears. I forget the author’s name.” 

Gertrude was listening, open-eyed. 

“ Why, there’s a lieutenant in this book who doesn’t 
talk, but snarls,” she said, delighted at her discov- 
ery. What can be the reason ?” 

“The writer’s want of prejudice,” I answered; but 
of course the child did not understand the sarcasm. 

“ The author must be a true democrat,” said Frau 
von Loben. 

“ Pardon me,” I answered ; “ neither a true demo- 
crat nor a true aristocrat would strive to serve his 
party by falsehood, calumny, and intentional perver- 
sion of facts. But those you will find here on every 
page.” 

“ I don’t know anything about it,” she answered. 
“ I have no time to read all the books that come into 
the house, and I don’t like to deprive the children of 
their chief enjoyment. Don’t you think if there 
really are bad things in them they would serve rather 
as a warning than as an example ?” 

“ That I cannot tell ; but there is a certain amount 
of pollution in familiarization with cynical images 
and opinions. What effect must it have on so young 
a child to see her rank, sex, and the morals and 

13 


G 


146 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


manners of her parents and ancestors so unsparingly 
slandered ?” 

Now Frau von Loben grew curious. ‘‘ I really 
must read that book,’* she said; “it must be inter- 
esting.” 

I could not help laughing a little indignantly. 
“ This is a strange world,” I said. “ Party feeling 
and selfishness sow the seed of poisonous lies, curi- 
osity waters the budding plants from a desire to know 
what will come of them, and want of reason garners 
the bitter harvest. And so these literary weeds grow 
apace, till they overtop the healthier plants, and the 
rising generation, unwarned of their venomous qual- 
ities, is bowed under the load piled upon them by 
the sinful thoughtlessness of their parents.” 

Frau von Loben took my attack as an entirely 
personal one. She is so thoroughly childish, good 
woman, and expresses herself and all her feelings in 
childish fashion. She retorted, therefore, in no very 
measured terms. I don’t like these wars of words, — 
above all, with unreasonable people, who, in their pas- 
sion, lose control of themselves, actually forgetting 
what they are arguing about. So I let her finish 
without interruption or reply. 

Her indignation was quite forgotten, but she still 
looked at me rather distrustfully, when we went that 
evening to the sewing-circle together. It was my first 
visit ; and she informed me that they sweetened their 
not very agreeable occupation by reading aloud. 

“ I think you will have no objection to the works 
selected,” she added. 


IT IS THE FASHIOH 


147 


I said nothing, but had my own thoughts on the 
one read that evening ; for it represented all good- 
ness as consisting in the religionism — not religion — 
that seems to say, Stand by; I am holier than thou,'' 
and, denying the Christ-like virtue of humility, re- 
gards all others as wanderers, or, at best, as seekers, 
and itself as the only one who has found. Such ideas 
are little to my taste, — as little as hearing holy things 
profaned by being dragged into common conversation 
in connection and association with the merest baga- 
telles of life. These are, according to my opinion, 
two of the evils of the day. There, cynical images 
and phrases ; here, holy texts sown broadcast over 
ordinary every-day matters : there, a drought of the 
purest wisdom; here, a freshet: on one side, the slime 
of coarseness ; on the other, the quicksand of hypoc- 
risy: here, bold invocation of every temptation; 
there, cowardly flight regarded as the highest cour- 
age. I believe that every struggle in the world is a 
struggle for the true equilibrium; the world has the 
advantage, more or less, but never entirely. Did 
each one but strive to settle this balance for himself, 
the conflict would soon be over ; but who would be 
the victor ? 

But you must not judge our association from 
my condemnation of its choice of books to be 
read aloud. Its sole object is to aid poor working- 
people, by preparing clothes for their children, that 
they may have more opportunity to see after their 
own requirements, without being trammeled by cares 
for their little ones. We belong to no especial de- 


148 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


nomination and bear no especial name. The book 
read is left to the choice of the reader. We meet 
once a week, in the house of our directress, an old 
lady who is much respected here. She was principal 
of one of the most celebrated institutes for young 
ladies in the city, and now, having retired into private 
life, devotes her time and powers to most praiseworthy 
objects. Her rather stiff dignity of manner and some- 
what assuming tone show plainly the former school- 
mistress. She greeted me, the new member of the 
circle, with considerable relaxation from her some- 
what pompous bearing. 

“Sit down by me,*' said my old friend Frau von 
Schonau. 

“The young ladies have their place in the next 
room,’* observed the mistress, with a manner which 
admitted of no contradiction. But my old friend 
was not to be repulsed. 

“ Fraulein von Schonerbrunn,** she said, “ is eccen- 
tric enough to declare herself at thirty years of age 
no longer young. So you can place her beside me 
with a clear conscience.** 

“But you belong to the unmarried young ladies,** 
said the lady, without noticing the objection, and with 
the air of a brigadier-general. Every one seems to 
insist on predicating of me the word “ young ;** but 
I’m obstinate on that point, and will not allow empty 
politeness to bestow upon me an appellation which I 
do not deserve. Still, I do not like to set myself up 
in opposition to the regulations of such societies, and 
expressed my willingness to go into the next room 


IT IS THE FASHION-, 


149 

if the rules demanded so strict a separation between 
the married and the unmarried members. 

It is only on account of the work/’ the directress 
answered, “as it renders the division more simple. 
The married ladies undertake all sorts of work, with- 
out distinction; for the young ladies I usually select 
myself, in deference to their delicacy of feeling. I 
have had much intercourse with young ladies, and 
know what is best for them, and how easily their 
sense of propriety is wounded or blunted; so I 
arrange that they have nothing to do with the boys’ 

wardrobe, — at least, not with the — the ” She 

hesitated, seeking for a word. 

“ Trousers,” said my old friend, coming to the res- 
cue, “ Trousers is the name of the article of dress.” 

I with difficulty restrained a smile, declared my- 
self ready to undertake any style of work, and 
obeyed the repeated request of Frau von Schonau 
that I would take a seat beside her. 

During our whole walk home she was condemning 
the ridiculous prudery of the directress, unconvinced 
by Frau von Loben’s efforts to justify it. “Child, 
that which is estimable I esteem, but that which is 
absurd will remain absurd in spite of all arguments ; 
so talk no more about it.” 

Then, turning to me, she continued, — 

“ Did you look at the young ladies? Didn’t they 
look as though they were dressed for a masquerade? 
Female costumes nowadays consist of a mixture of 
man’s dress and woman’s. Only look at the heads — 
the less in them, the more on them ! It is perfectly 

13* 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


ISO 

impossible for the amount of hair to grow on one head 
that you see piled upon it. I feel actually refreshed 
when I see a young girl’s head adorned only with 
that ‘crowning glory of woman,’ — her own beautiful 
hair, — and that arranged as simply as possible. Sim- 
plicity is the source of all that is beautiful, honorable, 
and natural. Ornament ceases to be ornamental as 
soon as it begins to depart from simplicity.” 

In this strain she continued the whole way home, 
growing more and more emphatic in her condemna- 
tions, to my delight, and to Frau von Loben’s despair. 

Bertha is not a member of the society ; she doesn’t 
like to sew, and her mother will not urge it upon 
her. She prefers occupations more “ the fashion,” — 
theatrical representations, parties, raffles, or fairs, in 
which refined young ladies take the place of sales- 
women. 

“ Only it looks very much like putting the pretty, 
vain young daughter herself out for sale,” says Frau 
von Schonau. “ Little trouble, plenty of amusement, 
and a charitable object, — an easy way of doing good, 
to be sure!” 

“ That you and Aunt Schonau should have been 
thrown together is really too bad 1” complains Frau 
von Loben. “You are already so much inclined to 
take a one-sided view of things, and Aunt Schonau 
only encourages you in it. Every one who comes 
from the country to a great city must consent to re- 
sign old-fashioned notions; and Aunt Schonau makes 
it all the harder for you to do.” 

So I am to go to school for the second time, it 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


I5I 

appears ; but now, even as in my childish days, my 
mind receives a strong impression only from that 
which is within its comprehension. All else falls on 
the ear as empty sound, unless, indeed, as is often the 
case, we draw therefrom a totally different moral from 
that which it was intended to convey. 


TENTH LETTER. 


Joachim’s recent flame has just died out. I am 
thankful for it, for I hope he will be a little more 
amiable now. Before, he was, at times, positively 
insupportable, — sometimes languishing, sometimes 
ungovernable, always distrait. Sentimentality and 
impertinence held alternate sway over his speech and 
manner. A few evenings ago, he came to pay me a 
visit, in a state of such quarrelsome excitement that 
I mixed a sedative powder and silently offered it to 
him. He was at first decidedly indignant, then 
laughed, thanked me, and declined it ; but I insisted 
that the powder he must take. His mother, as usual, 
took his part. 

“ Love ! love !” she said, apologetically. 

School-boy romance,” I thought to myself 

Dietrich, too, who, as his behavior on the railroad 
proved, usually undertakes to keep his brother in 
order, makes excuses for this childish passion. “ i [e 
is really deeply in love,” he said to me, '' and it is 
just as well that he should have the attack and ^et 
it over now, when anything serious is not to be 
thought of ; for later he will have to consult his 
reason, and not his heart.” 

I shook my head disapprovingly. 

“ I think that you misunderstand me on this point,” 
he continued, earnestly. ‘'You seem to think that I 

(152) 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


153 


would throw myself away on the first girl who came 
in my path, for purely mercenary motives. That I 
never will do ! I will never make a choice that will 
degrade me.’' 

‘‘I don’t think anything,” I answered, ‘‘except 
that people in i^uch cases never act as they expect 
to act. The power of the heart is resistless. To 
what action it will call you, you cannot tell till the 
time comes. You are very young, and have missed 
nothing if you have not yet met your fate.” 

“ I have often contemplated marriage,” he answered, 
“ and thought of many girls, all of them pretty, sen- 
sible, and, of course, rich ; but, somehow, I never 
could make up my mind to come to the point. 
Something always seemed to hold me back.” 

“ You talk as though marriage were a pure matter 
of business,” I answered. “ A man may examine 
horses, houses, or clothes that he thinks of pur- 
chasing, but he does not search for the woman he 
desires for his wife, nor compare her with other sam- 
ples of the same article, and haggle about the price. 
No ! she is found ! — and then but one course lies 
before him.” 

“That is, if Fortune favor us,” added Dietrich. 

“ Fortune can do no more than fulfil or deny our 
desires ; but to a deed that our heart does not consent 
to, we should never permit ourselves to be forced.” 

“ Certainly not,” he replied. 

And now to return to Joachim. He and Bertha 
were at a brilliant entertainment given, not long since, 
by the beautiful English lady. She was in search of 

G* 


154 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


characteristic faces for a table au-viv ant ^ and, Joachim 
and Bertha having been recommended to her, she 
waived all etiquette and invited them both most 
urgently. You can imagine the excitement, both 
before and after the so-called ‘‘ children’s ball” which 
followed the tableau, at which were young officers 
and grown ladies, — the ‘‘cream” of society. Bertha’s 
head is almost turned. She had a “perfect time.” 
She has “ had a glimpse of the glories of the world 
her eyes are yet dazzled and her heart longs for the 
motley, tinsel show. Splendor, wealth, rank, — those 
are the dreams of this young soul, — the three wor- 
shiped by the world, instead of the holier three, 
Faith, Hope, Charity. Unfortunately, the excitement 
is kept up by a devoted friendship that began that 
night between the young girl and a pretty, fashionable 
Polish Countess, the wife of quite a prominent man. 
She took a sudden fancy to Bertha, and was seized 
with the laudable desire to prepare her for society. 
“ Countess Wanda” is now heard from morning to 
night, and Bertha is more with her than with her 
parents. The first-fruits of this intimacy are increased 
thirst for more luxury and extravagance, a desire to 
do everything that her new friend does, a bitter re- 
sentment against Fortune for denying her the neces- 
sary means, alternate passionate hopes that she may 
one day possess them, and lamentations over her 
hard lot. It is almost impossible to imagine the 
ladders that she and her mother build, leading first 
up to society and the court, and after that. Heaven 
knows whither ! I beat a retreat as soon as Frau von 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


ISS 

Loben places her foot on the first round of this 
ladder and begins to plan the style of toilet Bertha 
shall wear at these imaginary festivals. 

Ah !” sighed Bertha, during one of these conver- 
sations, ‘‘ where will the money come from, though ? 
Wanda will tell me how to dress, — we have already 
talked that over ; but the money ! Papa will never 
give it !” 

It will all come right,'' the mother said, comfort- 
ingly. ‘‘The kind Father will care for you." 

The kind Father again ! It is true that He clothes 
the lilies of the field, but I am inclined to doubt His 
clothing a vain, pretty young woman for court-balls. 

Unfortunately, the Polish Countess is a very charm- 
ing little creature, precisely calculated to turn the 
head of a young girl already strongly inclined to 
worldliness. 

“ That little Polish witch !" said Aunt Schonau. 
“ When she comes into the house, the last few remains 
of reason take to themselves wings !" 

But even she has fallen under Wanda's influence, 
and cannot be very severe with the fascinating^ little 
creature, although she takes the field against her 
most decidedly on all occasions. 

“ That droll, fat little person !" says the Countess. 
“ She treats me precisely as though I were Satan 
himself." 

“ Not Satan, but Satanella," corrected my old friend. 

“ Why, what do I do so dreadful ?" 

“You exist!" answered Frau von Schonau. “How- 
ever, birds of Paradise have as good a right to exist 


156 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


as useful fowls; but they are not fit associates for 
each other.” 

The little Countess laughs heartily at these speeches; 
indeed, she laughs at everything, but in such a silvery, 
sweet little voice that one laughs with her without 
knowing at what. She revenges herself for the name 
of Satanella by bestowing upon Frau von Schonau 
the title of “ Satan’s Grandmother.” 

The festival had a different effect upon Joachim. 
His delusion is over. The boy knew very few people, 
and consequently had by no means a pleasant time in 
the exclusive assembly. He found few to dance with 
and few to talk to ; indeed, the beautiful object of his 
admiration, the fair hostess herself, who had merely 
invited Joachim and Bertha from a sort of caprice, was 
too completely surrounded by admiring worshipers 
to bestow any attention upon the half-grown youth. 
A piercing sensation of his own nothingness came 
over him, and that is usually the first flutter of the 
wings for a new and a loftier flight. 

Aunt Schonau, it is all chaff!” he said, in reply 
to her inquiries. 

What is that ?” asked the “ Excellenz,” as I 
always call her now, — for she surely deserves the title. 

Joachim did not know, himself. He laughed. 

Dietrich says it. I think it’s some farming ex- 
pression. I mean that it is all worthless, — all the 
splendor — all the world — is chaff.” 

“ You are a fool 1” replied the old lady. See first 
that you yourself are worth something, and then you 
will be more competent to judge of people and of 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


IS7 


things. All is not gold that glitters, it is true ; but the 
fact that gold does glitter does not render it worthless.’' 

Some accidental remarks made by Bertha explained 
Joachim’s misanthropy: 

“ My lady had such an exquisite bouquet in her 
hand, — not the one Joachim sent her; and she has 
the loveliest daughter, not quite grown yet, but com- 
pared to her her mother is ” 

Chaff!” exclaimed Joachim, rushing up-stairs to 
his room, singing, — 

** I love alone the fair little one.” 

The rest was lost in the distance. 

''A nice young fellow enough,” remarked Caroline, 
afterwards. ‘‘ But such mean-looking people come to 
see him, — such shabby people 1 they can’t be fit com- 
pany for him. Why don’t you tell him so ?” 

‘‘ Not I, Caroline.” 

“Well,” she chattered on, “he who touches pitch 
will be defiled ; but when we see a child fall into a 
pitch-tank we don’t think of ourselves, — only of him.” 

Her words startled me ; but she could tell me no 
more. 

“ I am no busybody,” she said. “ I never listen 
when the servants talk of the family, so I don’t know 
anything ; but one thing I do know, — the people who 
go up to the young gentleman’s room, and, when he is 
not at home, stand waiting for hours outside his door, 
are after no good. That much I am sure of. You 
ought to see to it.” 

“ But, Caroline, he has his father and his mother.” 

14 


158 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


So have the little ones ; and you know how much 
need they have of you.” 

I went to bed that night full of anxiety. What 
could I do ? It was not that I feared to touch the 
pitch ; but suppose some one should say, '' That is 
my pitch, — what concern is it of yours ?” No, no ; I 
will not interfere. Joachim has his nearest friend in 
his brother Dietrich ; let him go to him for advice. 

If he were my boy, I know what I should do. I 
should appeal to his own good heart. 

The morning after the ball, Frau von Loben called 
to me, ‘^Corne here; I must show you the children. 
The morning after a ball is perfection; it is more 
beautiful than sunrise, — it is the truest poesy.” 

I followed her, in some curiosity. Bertha was still 
in bed, neither weary nor exhausted, but enjoying the 
luxury of repose after yesterday’s excitement. She 
was blooming as a rose ; her long black hair hung 
over the side of the bed, almost touching the floor. 
Half raised, and her head supported on her hand, she 
was telling Gertrude and the two little ones of last 
evening’s pleasures, — Schefiierezade recounting her 
fairy-tales ! Clarchen had come into her room very 
early, and had striven to open her sleeping sister’s 
eyes, so eager was she to hear the wonderful stories. 
But they were not like the dear old fairy-tales ; and 
the sparkling eyes of the teller were not full of the 
beneficence of the good fairies, but were bright with 
the first vain consciousness of the enchantment and 
power of her own beauty. It must be delightful, 
after all, to be young, beautiful, and admired. But 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


159 

outward beauty should incite the possessor to keep 
the heart and mind worthy of its lovely shrine. 

The breathless eagerness with which Gertrude was 
drinking in every word troubled me. Frau von Loben, 
also, took the brightness in the child's eyes for the 
dawn of like aspirations. 

“ When you are grown, you shall go to balls, too,'^ 
she said, consolingly. 

“ Oh, no !" said the child. “ I don’t care to go ; 
but — I should like to be able to see Bertha.” 

The lovely little creature ! She and the two little 
ones are my guests now. The President some days 
ago received a letter announcing the speedy arrival 
of one of his oldest friends, and, being most anxious 
for him to stay at his house during his sojourn in the 
city, thought of giving up his own room to him, 
making use, instead, of the corridor which serves as 
a common passage-way. Frau von Loben was beside 
herself at the prospect, and yet knew of no other 
arrangement ; so I came to the rescue. I proposed 
that Joachim should stay with Dietrich, and Frau von 
Loben and Bertha take possession of his room. Ger- 
trude could sleep in Caroline’s room, and the two 
little ones in mine. So the children’s room would 
be left for the guest. A passionate embrace was 
my reward for the so-called sacrifice, which really 
was none at all. By the aid of the carpenter and 
upholsterer, Frau von Loben’s excellent taste soon 
transformed the children’s gloomy, ugly room into 
a most attractive apartment. Though the guest has 
gone, the old arrangements have not yet been re- 


l 6 o the fashion. 

stored, as he is expected to return shortly, but only 
for a flying visit. So I will have the children for a 
little longer. I wish it were for much longer. They 
occupy still more of my time now; but it seems to 
me as though a moment spent with them were of 
more value than hours passed in no company save 
my own, — of more value, and pleasanter. Now, as 
I write to you, they are sleeping the soft, lovely sleep 
of their innocent age, and, in the stillness about me, 
I can hear their low, regular breathing, showing 
health of body and peace of soul. I look towards 
them every few moments, to refresh my eyes with the 
guileless picture. There they lie, their rosy cheeks 
pressed close together, their hands still folded from 
their evening prayer. I wish I had them always ! I 
wish they were my own ! But why ? Is not all that 
the heart truly loves really a part of oneself? So 
every one can have something precious on earth, — 
even those who seem quite alone in the world. And 
a loss of that which we cherish is impossible, so long 
as we cling, with hearts full of love, to our right of 
possession. What death snatches away, what life 
threatens to take from us, still remains our own, so 
long as we do not resign the rights which our attach- 
ment gives. I pray God each day to give me some- 
thing to love, which, so far as my poor powers go, 
I can care for and cherish, that my days may not 
pass uselessly away, and that, when the night comes, 
a bright star of gratitude and affection may light me 
to the other side. 


ELEVENTH LETTER. 


I HAVE not been in good spirits lately. I see in- 
consistency and confusion around me, and suspect 
that even worse things are hidden from my sight. I 
was not wise to cast myself on the torrent of life ; 
there is no abiding peace, no lasting sunshine. But 
to what human beings are these vouchsafed, and to 
which of us would their long continuance prove a 
blessing? 

There has been a great robbery at the Lobens*. 
The President’s friend, of whom I told you, came 
to the city for the purpose of collecting some sums 
of money, and placed quite a large amount in the 
President’s hands, to be taken charge of until his 
return. This, which was in a separate package, in 
Herr von Loben’s desk, has been taken, as well as 
the month’s salary which had just been paid, and 
quite a large quantity of silver-ware. The locks were 
not broken, but opened with pass-keys. The thief 
must have been perfectly familiar with them. 

As I went to the Lobens’ apartments, on receiving 
the news, I met Dietrich and Joachim, who were 
standing in the corridor, engaged in earnest con- 
versation. I caught the words, — 

“ What ! tell father now ? Impossible ! Cheer up, 
though ! It will all come out right 1” 

14* 


( 161 ) 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


162 

On seeing me, they were silent, bowed, and went 
down-stairs together. 

Over in the Lobens’ apartments all was in confu- 
sion, — Frau von Loben in tears, the President pale 
and much disturbed. I think he was glad for me to 
come and take his wife away. Nothing could be done, 
save to give notice to the police, and that Dietrich had 
promised to attend to. I strongly suspect the convivial 
trio, especially Henrietta’s fiance, of complicity in the 
robbery, and said so plainly, but raised a regular tem- 
pest by so doing. Frau von Loben begged me not to 
mention my suspicions to her husband, and declared 
that she herself would answer for Henrietta’s inno- 
cence (although she has had plenty of proofs of her dis- 
honesty), and nothing would induce her to acknowl- 
edge that winking at small offenses paves the way 
for greater ones. It is not attachment to the servant, 
but only a sort of indolence, which makes her mistress 
unwilling to part with her, — dislike to quitting the 
path she has trodden so long, and repugnance to 
resuming the long-relinquished sceptre of household 
authority, even if she could “possibly find time” to 
wield it. As for Bertha, she scarcely even knows 
what the kitchen looks like. Her long trains would 
hardly do to wear there. It is easier to stay in the 
parlor, where they are suitable, than to change her 
dress or lift it up. Indeed, fashionable life seems 
concentrated in the parlor. My thoughts were wan- 
dering far from the robbery; Frau von Loben's were 
still busy with it, as was evident from her next remark. 

“ Everything is for the best,” she said. “ I have 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


163 


long wished for heavier and more modern silver. 
Now we have to get new, and I shall see that no one 
has handsomer.” 

I had been hearing so much lately about the im- 
possibility of getting along on the President’s income, 
that this new extravagance absolutely petrified me. 
But it was perfectly consistent with a not uncommon 
idea. Without silver, no company ; without com- 
pany, no enjoyment, — only every-day monotony. 
At home, bread and salt, if necessary, and the com- 
monest ware ; but for company, be outdone by no 
one ! Rather borrowed silver than none ! Why 
cannot people learn to detach themselves from things 
to which only Fashion gives value ? Call it old- 
maid’s notions, if you please, thirst for singularity, 
want of housewifely pride, egotism of solitary women, 
— it is my idea nevertheless ! I did not think it worth 
while to say all this, but offered the silver which my 
aunt left me, for the present, partly because I really 
did not need it, and partly to spare the unhappy 
President, for a time at least, the system of persecu- 
tion to which I knew he would otherwise at once be 
subjected. A passionate embrace was again my 
reward, and the “ egotistical old maid” was suddenly 
transformed into “ her good angel, her best friend, a 
model of self-sacrifice !” — a sudden metamorphosis, 
but not a lasting one, I fear. 

The subject of despairing complaint was thus 
changed to Bertha’s approaching confirmation. This 
solemn occasion has been the topic of conversation 
for a long time, not so much on account of its own im- 


164 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


portance as of its being, as usual, the prelude to her 
introduction into society. Less thought is given to 
earnest preparation for the changeful experiences of 
woman’s life, to strengthening the principles of Chris- 
tian religion, to the deep import of this solemn transi- 
tion-ceremony, than to the balls and gayeties which it 
is not customary for a young girl who has not yet 
received this sacred seal, to attend. This, however, has 
not been the case with Bertha, — at least, not since her 
intimacy with Countess Wanda. Hardly a day passes 
that the latter does not take her to some entertain- 
ment. Indeed, she is only awaiting her confirmation 
to beg her assistance in the performance of some 
French plays, — of course for a charitable object. 
Bertha is a little doubtful, but her mother has prom- 
ised for her; but of course not until after her con- 
firmation.” I don’t see why not just as well before 
as after; for holy and profane are mixed up in hope- 
less confusion in the young girl’s head. Out of 
regard to Bertha’s aristocratic friend, several altera- 
tions have been made in the arrangements for the 
ceremony. The silk dress has been chosen of some- 
what heavier quality, and for the lace mantle which 
she was to have worn, a lace shawl has been substi- 
tuted. A gold brooch, and ornaments for the hair, 
have also been purchased; but the President declared 
a watch a useless expense. The mother would gladly 
have offered hers, but it was too old-fashioned ;” 
and the ‘‘kind Father” was again expected to come 
to their assistance. I could not resist commenting 
upon this singular sort of faith, which, instead of 


IT IS THE FASIIIOH. 


i6s 

removing mountains, expected a shower of gold from 
heaven, making fertile the sterile fields of fashionable 
vanities and necessities. My words produced a long- 
ing exclamation : 

“A shower of gold! Only think! If we only 
could have such a shower for two or three days ! 
Then I would have no more trouble ; then life would 
be worth having! A shower of gold ! how delightful!’' 

At this moment Bertha entered. We exchanged 
greetings, and she seated herself at the window, her 
hands lying in her lap, her eyes fixed on the street. 

‘‘ Everything is so dreadfully dear,” continued Frau 
von Loben ; “ even the seamstress’s wages for making 
Bertha’s things amount to a large sum, and we stint 
ourselves in everything, and have all her things made 
at home ; and if my poor husband has to replace that 
stolen money I don’t know what we shall do. There 
are so many rich people ” 

(“ And so many more poor ones,” I thought.) 

Why can’t we be rich ? ” 

‘‘ Because we’re unlucky,” said Bertha, interrupting 
the jeremiade. 

Yes, yes,” continued her mother, '‘it is appointed 
so, no doubt. Aunt Ludovika will outlive us all. 
But I do think she might give Dietrich something, 
as she is keeping him out of the estate.” 

I reminded her of the three hundred thalers a year 
that he received. 

“ What is three hundred thalers to a gay young 
officer ? Why, hardly enough to keep him in gloves. 
What remains to the poor fellow ” 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


1 66 

But to retrench,” I thought she was going to say ; 
but no 

But to marry a rich girl ? He must do it. It is 
his duty. I tell him so every day. He is the eldest. 
Unless Aunt Ludovika does something for him before 
long, he will have to do so. One of them must do 
something to keep the younger ones alive when their 
father and I are no more.” 

“I can’t bear to hear you talk so, mother!” ex- 
claimed Bertha. “ Thinking about death is even 
worse than the ceaseless remembrance of our poverty. 
Both of you are far enough from death, especially 
you, who are so much younger than father.” 

‘‘Younger, it is true, but much weaker,” she re- 
plied, to my surprise. “ I will certainly die first. I 
could not bear his loss ; and, besides, I should go 
wild with jealousy if he met your mother in heaven 
and I were not with him. Yes, children,” she con- 
tinued, turning to us both, “ you cannot imagine the 
love a wife feels for her husband. You, dear Hilde- 
gard, are uncommonly happy in being free from all 
family cares. You give your heart to your friends, 
and help them to bear their troubles ; but still they 
are not your own relations. Certainly in that un- 
married people are the happiest.” 

I made no reply, only breathed a fervent mental 
prayer that Heaven would deliver me from every 
egotistical, belittling, narrow affection, be it for whom 
it might. Upward should true love raise us ; but it 
never can, if we hang the leaden weights of earthly, 
trifling sentiments on its glittering pinions. We 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


167 


should not only strive to pass through life free from 
envy and selfishness, but we should strive to purify 
and raise even those better sentiments on which an 
undisciplined, inexperienced, frivolous, or unreason- 
able heart is apt to make shipwreck. I don’t like to 
hear myself called happy, because fate has denied me 
the ordinary objects for these sentiments ; but I still 
more dislike to have the capability denied to expend 
them on other objects, and thus to cultivate a tender, 
affectionate nature. Of course, I will never marry ; 
but, if I did, — pardon the supposition, or laugh at me 
for it if you choose, — I believe that I would make an 
admirable wife, provided, of course, my husband was 
not of a particularly romantic disposition. Husbands, 
as well as wives, deserve their share of blame for the 
many unhappy or unloving marriages which so often 
come under our notice. The faults of the husbands 
I pass over in silence; they can find them out and 
correct them for themselves. Now for the wives’ 
shortcomings. 

“ If I were a person of authority,” I said, suddenly, 
“ I would allow no young girl to marry who had not 
previously passed a rigid examination before a com- 
mittee of housekeepers.” 

Frau von L5ben looked up in perfect amazement. 
I explained to her the course of my thoughts. She 
laughed, and asked, rather scornfully, — 

‘‘ Why not an examination into her moral qualities 
as well?” 

‘‘That could not very well be done,” I replied. 

Moral qualities are the very foundation of love 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


168 

He who has trusted his heart to a woman must 
be ready to accept the result for better or worse. 
Sympathy draws two hearts together. Whether their 
affection be strong enough to last through life, no 
tribunal save the Highest can decide. No human 
eye can penetrate into the future. But there stands 
the home, a tangible and visible object, and there the 
beauty of order can be displayed. Order causes com- 
fort and respect. Little, well spent, goes further than 
much, wasted, and the anticipation of trifling wishes 
often prevents the forming of unattainable ones and 
the discontent sure to result. Orderly housekeeping 
brings an orderly spirit; and where blame finds no 
little outward neglects to expend itself upon, we avoid 
the danger that it will gradually grow to injustice and 
attack the innocent as well as the guilty. No, in- 
deed ! I insist upon the committee of housekeepers ! 
Education would become a different matter then.'' 

‘‘Yes, we would return to the bondage of old 
times, which, thank Heaven, we have thrown off to 
give Nature a chance to develop unrestrained. I am 
doubly astonished at you, Fraulein Hildegard, whose 
whole life, until very lately, has been, as you your- 
self acknowledge, one long aspiration for freedom." 

“ You confound restraint and propriety," I answered. 
“ Every creature, human or divine, every feeling, every 
action, is subject to some restraint; but the knowl- 
edge that it is reasonable, or necessary, makes that 
restraint proper, and makes us submit to it. One 
of Providence's loveliest arrangements is the sepa- 
ration of masses into families. But, to display the 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


169 


full beauty of this arrangement, the wife must be 
priestess of the household gods; and that is rarely the 
case nowadays. No official is elected without some 
inquiry into his capabilities and fitness for the posi- 
tion. Is the wife’s office a less important one ? Are 
not her household duties in close relationship to the 
happiness not only of this life, but of the life to come?” 

You are very practical and sensible, but not at 
all poetical,” said Frau von Loben ; and Bertha, in 
great indignation, declared that if such a system 
as that were introduced, nothing would induce her to 
give any attention to household affairs, lest it might 
be supposed that she was anxious to be married. 
‘‘And suppose I passed all my best days over such 
things,” she continued, “and never married, after all?” 

I could not help laughing at the unconscious con- 
tradiction. 

“ It is quite true,” said the sensible mother. “ Poor 
girls marry so seldom now, that it seems hardly 
worth while to sadden their youthful days.” 

I was silent. When the vessel is already sunk 
in the treacherous sands, it is useless to drop the 
plummet into the deep. 

“You seemed to have pleasant thoughts just now, 
when you were sitting at the window,” I said to 
Bertha. 

“ The few groschens it would save would not re- 
pay the trouble,” she said, without answering my 
question. 

“ I think,” said I, “ that you do not quite under- 
stand the object.” 


H 


15 


170 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


'' Possibly not,” replied she ; but I cannot force 
myself to understand.” 

‘"It is as possible to conquer mental laziness as 
bodily; and pardon me if I say that I think it is a 
sort of mental indolence which prevents you from 
perceiving the falseness of your views and opinions. 
The judgment would not be wanting, and you could 
soon gain strength of mind to combat these fallacious 
ideas. And would you prefer to be a characterless 
creature, ^ driven with the wind and tossed’ ? ” 

Yes ; if it be my nature.” 

‘‘You say that to me; would you say it to those 
who, made keen-sighted by love, pointed out your 
faults?” 

“A pretty sort of love it would be,” she cried, 
excitedly, “that did not have the same feeling for my 
faults as for my good qualities. Those who do not 
love me, faults and all, need not trouble themselves 
to do it at all.” 

“We should always set an ideal before us, and 
strive to attain to it,” I answered. “ Only thus will 
we ever gain even that degree of perfection possible 
to our earthly natures. To be loved in spite of one’s 
faults is, in the sense in which you say it, merely an 
obscure way of speaking, — nothing more. The bet- 
ter we love our friends, the more their faults pain us. 
They do not diminish our love, they only sadden it. 
My ambition would certainly spur me on to have 
little patience and tolerance with my faults, and to 
render as little difficult as possible the task of those 
who loved me in spite of them.” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


Bertha was angry ; I saw it in the manner with 
which she accused little Gertrude of having mis- 
placed her work-basket. The child tried to defend 
herself, but her sister’s violence completely quelled 
her; at last she managed to explain that she had 
taken the basket, but only for the purpose of com- 
pleting the work. But Bertha’s ill humor was not so 
easily quieted. 

I didn’t want your help,” she said, angrily. '‘And 
if you are to work for me, and have me scolded for 
being idle, you shall not stick another stitch on any- 
thing of mine as long as you live.” 

And she quitted the room. Dietrich had come in 
a few moments previously, and had been listening to 
the conversation. His eyes followed his sister as she 
left, and he looked really troubled. 

“What will become of her?” he said, sighing. 
“She has the qualities to make a heroine, or a Me- 
gaera.” 

It is true. Dietrich has plenty of sound sense and 
good feeling. Coming nearer, he said, — 

“ You could be a good angel to her. Again I beg 
you not to be deterred from the kind office by her 
ungraciousness. She really is better than she seems, 
but is totally undisciplined.” 

That is easy enough to say, but it is a hard task to 
undertake to supply the deficiencies of a faulty train- 
ing, and I ask myself again, what concern is it of 
mine ? It is strange, but each time I ask the ques- 
tion I find it more difficult to make a satisfactory 
reply. We almost Involuntarily wipe off the spots 


172 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


from an inanimate object ; should we pass by in in- 
difference the shadows on a human soul, and that 
soul one which has many admirable qualities and is 
not hardened in any of its faults? What now seems 
hard is as yet only the beginning of the process, but 
ere long love itself may try its influence in vain. It 
is full time to break the envelope of exaggerated 
self-esteem, obstinacy, and wilfulness in which she 
has wrapped herself. This refusal to acknowledge 
our faults, this insisting upon our own rights, is all 
the more difficult to root up the later we begin ; and 
how unjust does it make us! Life offers many and 
various conflicts. It surely is easier to seek our 
opponents in others, rather than in ourselves ; but 
how different the effect upon our characters ! I have 
always pitied those people who find it absolutely 
necessary to have a scapegoat on which to wreak 
all their ill humor or impatience, and I have generally 
found them to be those who, from faulty judgment, 
self-conceit, or indolence, neglected to seek in them- 
selves the cause of that ill humor and impatience. 
And yet this is most necessary ; for, even if we fail to 
find the fault in ourselves, the passion has had time 
to cool, and the complaint, if complaint there must 
be, is apt to be rendered less regardless of the feel- 
ings of its object. How often do we disgrace our- 
selves by treating a friend like an enemy! Bertha's 
scapegoat is Gertrude, and if she goes on in her 
present path her truest friends will not escape scath- 
less, and she will render her future lot either a con- 
tinual combat or a neglected isolation, by misunder- 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


173 


standing kind intentions, rewarding self-sacrifice with 
ingratitude, and smothering every gentle, tender 
feeling in unrestrained passion. I am sorry for her. 
She is but a child, and children seldom consider 
whither the path they are treading leads. I will 
take charge of her, for her mother would prove but 
a sorry guide. 

I had at the dinner table to-day another extraor- 
dinary instance of Frau von Loben’s inconsistency, 
besides the difficulty I found in reconciling her 
laughing, rosy cheerfulness with the dolorous com- 
plaints she had given vent to a few hours previously. 
The gayest plans, the brightest anticipations for the 
future, flowed from her lips, — expensive plans, of 
course, — visits to watering-places, balls and parties 
for the ensuing winter, pleasure-trips, etc. etc. I 
thought I must be going crazy, or my ears must be 
at fault. At last a famous singer was discussed, who 
is making a great sensation at this place. Bertha 
desired to hear her. Her mother promised that she 
should do so. 

The tickets are very expensive,'' said Joachim. 

“ Joachim is turning miser," said Bertha, sneeringly. 
“What is the matter with him ? For three days he 
has worn his old coat, and yesterday I found him at 
work in his room without a cigar." Joachim turned 
crimson, and he and Dietrich exchanged glances. 
Herr von Loben smiled approvingly on the boy, and 
said, — 

“ Are you growing sensible at last?" 

“ For pity’s sake, don’t turn prig," said the mother. 

15* 


174 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


Joachim attempted some laughing rejoinder, but 
it was stiff and forced, not natural and merry as 
usual. 

“He is saving up for his future establishment. As 
soon as his examination is over, he is going to marry 
his last flame, whoever she may be ; for he has kept 
very quiet about her,” continued Bertha. 

“ Pshaw ! my flames are all burnt out,” said Joa- 
chim, with a forced laugh. 

“ So I supposed from the old coat ; that’s always 
a sure sign with you, till the next sensation brings 
the tailor into requisition again.” 

Joachim made a scornful gesture. 

“ I desire no return from my flames ; I like to see 
a pretty face, whether it look kindly on me or not.” 

“ Then, Joachim, what is the object of your dress- 
coat, and all your gorgeous waistcoats and neckties ?” 
asked his father, jestingly. 

“ I owe them to my exalted frame of mind, papa,” 
answered Joachim. “ It is impossible for me to keep 
on an old coat when I am thinking of a beautiful 
face.” 

“ What has all this to do with the concert?” asked 
his mother. “ Are you too depressed to accompany 
Bertha ?” 

“ No, mother; but the tickets are too dear, and I 
want to economize.” 

“ What an absurd idea !” said the mother. “ And 
you so fond of music! The few thalers will not be 
missed.” 

“ I have heard the singer,” said Joachim. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


175 

“ Then you are only economical for other people ?” 
said Bertha, sarcastically. ‘‘ How kind of you 

“ I went in the gallery,” replied Joachim ; and 
you couldn’t do that, for you are a lady.” 

‘‘Alas, yes! I wish I weren’t!” 

“ Rather be thankful that you are,” replied Joa- 
chim. “ Men have a much harder time.” 

Bertha laughed. 

“ Foolish boy !” she said. “ When you try to talk 
sense I cannot help laughing.” 

“ How little it must take to amuse you, if even the 
‘sense’ of a ‘foolish boy’ makes you laugh!” said he, 
good-humoredly. 

“Ask Wanda; she will go with you,” said Frau 
von Loben. 

“ No, indeed,” said Bertha ; “ I can’t do that, for 
she wouldn’t let me pay for the ticket. It would be 
begging.” 

“ She takes you often enough to the theatre,” said 
Frau von Loben. 

“ Yes ; but then the offer comes from her, — I don’t 
ask her. I have to be careful with Wanda. She 
likes to give me things, and I have often offended 
her by refusing to accept the valuable presents she 
offers.” 

“ Then I shall have to go with you,” replied her 
mother. “You see,” she continued, turning to her 
sons, “ that your unwillingness to oblige makes your 
father pay for two tickets instead of one.” 

“ Bertha, you are unreasonable ; think of the rob- 
bery,” whispered Dietrich to his sister* then he 


1/6 


IT IS THE FASH/OH, 


continued, — Is it absolutely necessary that Bertha 
should hear this singer? We must learn to deny 
ourselves sometimes/’ 

“ A worthy pupil of Fraulein von Schonerbrunn,” 
said Bertha, with a mocking wave of her hand 
towards me. 

And a grateful one,” retorted Dietrich ; where- 
upon Bertha’s indignation broke forth. “Was there 
any harm in desiring to vary the monotony of her 
weary life by a little pleasure ? Were we born 
only for self-denial ? It was niggardly, thus to 
measure every small expenditure and to count up 
the amount paid for every enjoyment. Were they in 
poor enough circumstances for a miserable robbery 
to ruin the whole family ? If so, their mode of life 
was certainly an unsuitable one ; if not, why should 
this eternal croaking break in upon every pleasure ? 
Even the boys begin to preach !” she exclaimed, as 
she ended her passionate and unreasonable outburst. 

Its result was an unexpected one. Herr von Loben 
rose. The hectic spot on his cheek was deeper than 
ever, and his eyes had a sad expression that went to 
my very heart. 

“ My children,” he said, “ my life I give willingly 
for your happiness, but that is a passing thing, and, 
before Heaven, I declare that I have nothing else to 
give you ! If your happiness depend on money, you 
are indeed most miserable ! Seek it elsewhere, and 
seek it in peace !” 

Every face was full of consternation, and Frau von 
Loben burst into tears. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


177 

“Husband, how cruel you are, to frighten us so! 
What is the matter now ?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he said; “there are things 
that must be understood intuitively, or not at all.” 

With these words he left the room, and Dietrich 
followed him. Frau von Loben wept hysterically; 
the little children stared open-eyed. I thought it 
best to withdraw and take them with me. The little 
things forgot the tragic scene quickly enough, and 
played about merrily while I began this letter. But 
suddenly discord arose. Arthur had built a block 
house, and Clarchen threw it down. She did so be- 
cause it was finished, and she was in haste for him to 
begin another ; and had she not, he would probably 
have asked her to do it ; but, unfortunately, he was 
in a bad humor, and the poor little girl, who did not 
understand this despotic mood, was roundly scolded 
for her interference. She listened with humility, and 
finally he threw her a few of the worst building-blocks 
and told her to go and play alone. She retired to a 
corner, and sat quietly building, casting occasional 
timid glances at her brother, who strode up and 
down with the most revengeful aspect. I pretended 
to take no notice. The sad, resigned expression of 
the little thing, to whom the solitary play was a 
heavy penance, was just as lovely as the meekness 
with which she bowed to the unjust decree; and I 
was glad to see that she did not build impatiently or 
carelessly, but as neatly and exactly as ever. Her 
castle was finished, and she looked up to see if her 
sentence of banishment would not be repealed ; but 

H* 


178 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


the moment of revenge had come. The little boy ran 
towards her, and with one push the nicely-built house 
lay in ruins. Involuntarily I started from my seat, 
thinking the time to interfere had come. Not at all ! 

“ Why, she’s laughing!” exclaimed Arthur, in over- 
powering astonishment. She actually was laughing! 
The little face had brightened at the approach of her 
brother. He came in anger ; he came to destroy 
her careful work; but he came nevertheless, and, 
woman-like, she received him with smiles. Dear 
little thing ! My eyes filled with tears. The child is 
safe from all the attacks of the world. Gentleness is 
her weapon, — the weapon of a true woman. Armed, 
with that, she must conquer ; and rough indeed must 
be the hand that would snatch it from her grasp. 
Gentleness is a gift of God. Let him who has re- 
ceived it give thanks on his knees for the boon, and 
let him who has it not struggle with all his power of 
will and strength of character to win it. Gentleness 
gives that equilibrium to the soul which in wild 
passion is sure to be lost. Self-command gains it by 
conquest, and the fruit of the victory is well worth 
the hard struggle it is apt to cost. I experienced to- 
day something of that struggle, and it did me good. 
Bertha came to me, and, half timidly, asked that I 
would cut out the skirt of her confirmation dress, as 
she intended to make it herself, that the seamstress 
might not be detained more than one day. I did 
not allow myself a single remark on the unusual 
resolution, or the dependence I placed on her per- 
severance in it. Bertha’s sensitive nature is easily 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


179 


offended, and I know it must have cost her a good 
deal to come and ask my advice or aid. I, of course, 
complied, with the greatest willingness, and promised 
Caroline’s assistance and my own. A warm, grateful 
look rewarded me. The young girl can look lovely; 
and to-day, especially, I could not but think that what 
the poet says is true of her, — 'Tt is the soul which 
builds the body.” I fear she will have to seek amid 
ruins and rubbish for the materials for her building. 
Ruins and rubbish ! that reminds me that another of 
the new houses, that are shooting up like mushrooms 
i-n every quarter, fell to-day. Thi^ is the third one of 
these buildings that has fallen ere its completion. So 
do they build houses nowadays — for the eye only : like 
the happiness of those who occupy them, they have 
no foundation, and cannot resist the slightest storm. 

My lamp is burning low. Caroline put oil in it 
before she went to bed, but, I suppose, not sufficient 
to last long; for I remember the innocent expres- 
sion with which she bade me good-night and told 
me not to sit up late. She looked so particularly 
guileless that I thought at the time something must 
be the matter. Now I understand what it was. 
She has her own way in pretty much everything, and 
compels me to go to bed much earlier than I other- 
wise would, by giving me such short measure of oil 
that I am compelled to lay aside my pen long ere I 
have grown weary of conversing with you. I have 
to obey to-night; but to-morrow I will show her that 
I have discovered her stratagem, — the good-hearted, 
dictatorial old creature ! 


TWELFTH LETTER. 


You encourage me, rny dear Count, to continue 
my letters, and to tell you of all my experiences. 
Yes, in such a quiet humdrum life as mine everything 
becomes an experience, striking some deep chord, 
awaking useful reflections, and helping to solve the 
puzzling enigmas of life. A spider’s web in a sunny 
window or a dark corner, in whose meshes the un- 
happy flies expiate by a violent death their foolish 
disregard of danger, seems to me a fair type of the 
way in which w.e poor human creatures are entangled 
more or less by the follies and sins of this life. How 
many of these webs hang everywhere! New ones 
are being spun every hour, and the coarse fabrics of 
olden times were not half so dangerous as the en- 
ticing, silvery threads of modern weaving. I seem 
to myself like a great, buzzing fly, that, although 
conscious of the danger and not to be entrapped by 
it, still cannot resist the temptation to hover around 
and examine curiously the fatal snare. But, unlike 
the unhappy victims, I do it solely for my own profit 
and improvement. Frau von Loben lays all the 
blame of my ‘‘eccentric ideas,” as she calls them, on 
my ignorance of the world, and says they come from 
having passed my life in an obscure corner, as it were. 
(i8o) 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


I8l 

Better a clean corner than a dusty palace, I think. I 
am determined to preserve my own individuality. I 
will not have my opinions and ideas broken to harness. 
I will cling to my own decisions as to what is be- 
coming and what is not, and will not make propriety 
the mere slave of etiquette. I hear that it is not con- 
sidered proper’' that I should live alone; and even 
my close intimacy with the Loben family does not 
shield me from malicious tongues, because — can 
you credit such folly ? — there is a marriageable son 
in the family, with whom I have constant intercourse 
in spite of my professed distaste to society. 

My aunt of blessed memory, — the one who dressed 
me in that remarkable manner for the masked ball 
of my childhood, — when I did not understand an 
order, and, childlike, stared at her, used to say, 
‘‘Don’t make such a baa-mouth, Hildegard !” But 
I never in all my childish days made such a “ baa- 
mouth” as I did on hearing this extraordinary intel- 
ligence. So much so that Frau von Loben felt 
herself called upon to enter into an explanation. 

“ Don’t worry yourself, my dear Hildegard. It 
is nothing, except they say you want to marry my 
Dietrich. People will talk ; and, besides, it is not 
usually considered comme il faut for a young officer 
to visit an unmarried lady when she is alone.” 

I really didn’t know whether to laugh or to be 
angry ; but, as I am always more inclined to the 
former than to the latter, I laughed with all my heart, 
“You are an egotistical sort of person,” said old 
PYau von Schonau, in her brusque way, “to make 

i6 


i 82 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


such a great matter of your trifling deformity. Do 
you not know that such things are not of the slightest 
consequence nowadays, and that the distinguishing 
feature of our present high state of civilization and 
refinement is that young men of rank are willing to 
marry anything in the shape of a woman, if only she 
have plenty of money ?’' 

'' Not my Dietrich!’* interrupted Frau vomLoben, 
indignantly. 

My old friend went on : 

Age, looks, religion, — nothing has the slightest 
influence when money is in one scale of the balance 
and want of it in the other. Jewess or Christian, old 
or young, wise or simple, it is all the same to them ; 
and, bending before the universal power, they make 
haste to hide the one ‘ treasure’ from the gaze of the 
world and to squander the other in ‘riotous living.’ ” 

“ Shame 1” again cried Frau von Loben ; “ that 
does not apply to my boys.” 

“ Perhaps not to yours, perhaps not to some others; 
but it does apply to very, very many, and to all of 
them to this degree, — that they run after money.” 

“ Dietrich would never marry a Jewess.” 

“ There is no telling,” replied Aunt Schonau, with 
undisturbed composure. 

“ We are straying from the subject,” said Fraulein 
Bricks, the former school-mistress (for this conversa- 
tion took place at the sewing circle), with her usual 
pompous manner. “ I believe we were discussing 
the laws of decorum, were we not ?” 

“ Well, then we will be promenading around a pool 


IT IS THE FASHION. 1 83 

of stagnant water,” said my old friend, with more 
truth than politeness. 

Frau von Loben was provoked at the whole con- 
versation, although she did not appear at all surprised 
that the thought of any connection between Dietrich 
and myself should not be regarded as an absurdity. 
She seems to consider the young man so irresistible 
that any woman to whom he holds out his little finger 
would ruch to grasp his whole hand, and she will end 
by making him think the same. 

It does not seem to occur to any one how delightful 
it must be to a lonely person like myself suddenly 
to become, as it were, a member of a large family, 
and how deeply I must enjoy this pleasure, so long 
denied to me. They all seem to me children alike, 
though the eldest son is an officer and the youngest 
has not yet doffed his frocks. When they visit me 
they come to a room open to every member of the 
family. It all seems to me so simple and so natural, 
and I could not help saying so. 

“ Nevertheless, you are a woman, and he a man,” 
said Fraulein Bricks, as the champion of prudery ; 
and I could not deny that fact, although really I 
failed to perceive its application. 

“ You ought to be able to understand my feelings,” I 
said to her ; “ you have been so much with children.” 

Only with female pupils,” she said, pointedly. 

Well, it’s all the same,” I answered ; ‘‘ one can 
have a motherly feeling as well for boys as for girls.” 

“ I have never allowed my fancy to carry me into 
a position which I do not expect to occupy,” was the 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


answer, as the lady colored deeply, from injured deli- 
cacy and from indignation at being supposed guilty 
of ever having cherished a maternal feeling. “I 
loved my pupils as though they were my nieces ; I 
give my relations the love due to them as such ; but 
I should find it impossible to experience a maternal 
fondness for a handsome young officer; and you, 
Fraulein von Schonerbrunn, are much younger than 
I am.*' 

I laughed. I don’t suppose Dietrich does seem 
exactly like a son to me. To tell the truth, I have 
never thought much about what are my feelings to- 
wards him. But they are most innocent ones, I am 
sure, — so innocent that even the thought that his 
mother would probably repeat to him the whole con- 
versation did not in the least annoy or embarrass 
me. It is only natural that I should be kept back 
from any dawning attachment by the feeling incul- 
cated from my early childhood, and confirmed by 
riper thought and observation, that I was predestined 
to a solitary life. I have never been tempted to for- 
get this ; my heart always beats quietly and regularly, 
never have I been forced to repress any wild longing or 
regret; but I am willing, even without trial, to trust the 
powers of reason and experience. W Oman’s heart is a 
closed temple. Not to every worshiper are the mys- 
terious portals unbarred ; only to him whose earnest 
prayers are echoed from within. Mine will never be un- 
closed, — and so my longings for sympathy seek their 
vent in other ways. There is love in my heart ; and, as 
it never can be bestowed upon any one being, it sends 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


185 


forth its messengers into the world under different 
forms and appellations. No matter whither these 
messengers go, no matter whether they be called 
sympathy, friendship, duty, or tenderness, it is love 
which sends them forth on their pilgrimage; and 
though they may never reach the promised land 
(which, perhaps, after all, is fairer from a distance 
than in possession), yet they may gather and send 
home many precious treasures. 

It is a queer world ! On one side we see des- 
perate struggles after liberty ; on the other, the curb 
drawn with an unsparing hand: here, Woman’s 
Rights” (to many a woman’s ear no longer a discord- 
ant sound) ; there, a holy horror of treading one 
step beyond the conventional boundary-line: here, 
woman’s costume approaching more and more start- 
lingly the masculine in cut and style ; there, the most 
narrow-minded notions regarding the association of 
the two sexes. How will these strange contrasts be 
reconciled ? Not forcibly, that is certain. When we 
learn to curb our extravagant ideas and requirements 
in dress and amusement, and return to the good old 
maxim, work and pray,” then, and only then, will 
the true emancipation of our sex begin. Give us 
the right to labor, open to us more sources of live- 
lihood, employ women’s powers so far as is con- 
sistent with feminine dignity and decorum, and how 
would the number of weary, worthless lives be di- 
minished ! It is woman’s noblest calling, as wife, to 
call out the tenderer side of man’s nature ; as mother, 
to form and ennoble her children’s characters ; but 
16* 


1 86 the fashion. 

this should not cut her off from using her powers in 
other directions, if she can do so without neglecting 
her first and highest duties. Which is more contrary 
to true womanliness: to stand a young girl year after 
year in the market-place, as it were, until the faded 
flowers of youth can no longer be concealed by arti- 
ficial bloom, and then leave her either to begin her life 
all over again, or to drag out a selfish, unemployed ex- 
istence; or else, to endeavor, in her first strength and 
freshness, to turn her feet into some path of useful- 
ness ? That prudery which forbids young ladies to 
sew trousers, although they may wear hussar- or 
zouave-jackets, will, of course, cry shame at the sug- 
gestion of woman’s work extending beyond the 
spinning-wheel. But the world progresses, and has 
long since left behind the ancient symbol of feminine 
labor ; and it is as well that it has done so. I myself 
feel strongly the need of some occupation, and have 
sometimes been tempted to swell the ranks of book- 
makers but the shudder with which I remember 
the difficulties, annoyances, and inconveniences to 
which female writers are subjected convinced me 
that I was not one of the elect, and I respect the art 
too sincerely ever to consent to force myself among 
its followers without a decided vocation. Read one 
page of Goethe or of Shakspeare, and then a whole 
thick volume of one of our modern poetasters, and 
you will find more ideas in the single page than in 
the whole volume. Of the many who think them- 
selves called, few are chosen, and those few must 
force their pure music through the uproar of the 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


187 


charlatan crowd. Book-writing and book-selling are 
a mere speculation nowadays, but whether taste or 
morals are benefited thereby is to be questioned. 
Even literature bends at the shrine of Mammon. 
God shield the world over which this tyrant seems 
to be gaining undisputed sway ! 

Well, I have told you what I cannot do ; the next 
question is. What can I do, to make myself useful and 
happy? But do not answer me; I must seek and 
find for myself; and, meantime, I will taste whatever 
healthy enjoyments life sets before me, wondering, as 
I do so, at the numerous indigestible dishes which 
have found a way into its cuisine. 


THIRTEENTH LETTER. 


I HAVE played the hostess for the first time in my 
new home, and have had a little tea-party, consisting 
of the Lobens, my friend Frau von Schonau, and, to 
give Bertha an unexpected pleasure. Countess Wanda, 
who was polite enough to send the most cordial ac- 
ceptance to my note of invitation. I mounted half a 
dozen steps in Frau von Loben’s good opinion, as 
soon as my invitation had been given, although she 
was almost inclined to consider its merits counter- 
balanced by my extraordinary contempt of form 
in sending an invitation to the Countess without 
having previously called upon her. But Countess 
Wanda’s acceptance set me right once more in her 
eyes. I don’t believe Frau von Loben could have 
been as much excited over her own first company as 
she was over mine. Her questions, suppositions, and 
advice were so droll that it was impossible to avoid 
laughing. I pretended to have invited a particular 
friend of mine, “ although I was not quite certain 
whether he would come or not.” I meant cheerful- 
ness; she thought I meant you. My dear Count, in 
that case both would have come together. 

Poor Frau von Loben passed an unhappy day in 
consequence of her curiosity. How she tried to out- 
wit me ! The children were sent to coax the secret 

(i88) 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


189 


from me, but the little monkeys were so unskilful 
that their object was easily discovered. Even Caro- 
line was tried; but she is a servant of the old school, 
and is not to be corrupted. 

Bertha was perfectly delighted when she found 
Countess Wanda in my room. I never gave the girl 
credit for so much enthusiasm and affection as she 
displays for the pretty little Countess, who, although 
very little older than her friend, adopts an air of pro- 
tection towards her. She pats her head, and strokes 
her cheeks, as though she were a child, as she laughs 
and jests with her. I do not believe a serious sen- 
tence ever passes the lips of the merry little sprite. 

Frau von Loben’s first words were to inquire for 
my mysterious guest. 

‘‘ I haven’t heard from him,” I replied, shrugging 
my shoulders ; ‘'but one thing is certain, if he doesn’t 
come, no one will have a good time.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself,” she answered; “I am in 
the best of humors, and my husband was really de- 
lighted to receive the invitation.” 

Herr von Loben overheard her, and nodded pleas- 
antly to me. At first the curiosity was great ; each 
time the door opened or the bell rang, every eye 
was turned towards the entrance; but gradually it 
was forgotten in the general gayety, and just when 
my strange guest was no longer expected he was 
there, shining in the pleasant faces and sounding in 
each cheerful voice. The children were as happy as 
possible, playing games with Gertrude. The little 
Pole fascinated every one with her sparkling vivacity. 


190 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


Dietrich, Joachim, and the cadet, who is passing his 
Easter holidays with us, — even the President, and the 
old ‘‘ Excellenz,” paid their court to her. She is, 
indeed, most charming. 

You cannot imagine how quickly and how pleas- 
antly the evening passed away. Caroline had baked 
some cakes after one of my mother’s receipts, and 
Frau von Loben at once asked me for it, as she is 
making a collection of receipts for Bertha’s use 
when she is married; so I procured the cook-book 
for her. It was my mother’s, and had not been 
launched into the world with the flag of gilt and 
bright colors under which every production of 
modern literature sails forth into immortality or 
forgetfulness, but hid its treasures of delicious 
dishes, and, to me, pleasant remembrances, under an 
unpretentious, dark binding. On every page was the 
sign of a quiet housewifely spirit; you may open 
many books nowadays without discovering this spirit, 
or, in fact, any spirit at all. My guests looked over 
the volume. Each one of my father’s favorite dishes 
was marked in red ink, and on the margin stood 
characteristic remarks in my mother’s hand. The 
old book seemed to bring back my childish days, 
and I began to tell of some droll incidents of the 
same, which enchanted the children, and recalled 
similar ones to their parents. Stories and laughter 
went on for a long time. Caroline, who, as you 
know, has opinions of her own and does not hesitate 
to express them, added much to the general amuse- 
ment by her characteristic interpolations and com- 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


I9I 

ments. We were like happy children, and forgot for 
the time all ceremonious forms, all distinctions of age 
and class. Sqch was the magic effect of my mother’s 
cook-book. After this, who will call cookery a prosaic 
art? 

If I were to attempt to tell in what manner we 
amused ourselves, I really could not do so. There 
are moments in our existence when we cast off what- 
ever oppresses us, and throw ourselves freely into the 
pleasure of the hour. Wax candles and champagne 
are not necessary for these hours of enjoyment; in- 
deed, they are rather incumbrances, for they presup- 
pose such numberless formalities that the wings of 
happiness are clogged, and cannot rise. Pleasure that 
needs elaborate preparation is only half pleasure. 

At last I seated myself at the piano, and began 
to play. All, except the President and Frau von 
Schonau, who involuntarily beat time, smiling at the 
gay scene, joined in the dance ; and at last Wanda 
began to sing to the music as she danced. One after 
another joined in the song, and the fresh, youthful 
voices formed a lovely accompaniment. Frau von 
Loben danced with each of her children in succession, 
and at last Wanda insisted that she must take a turn 
with her. How lovely is a wife thus surrounded by 
her children, and how hard it is to understand why 
she should seek abroad those pleasures which await 
her in the warm hearts and bright eyes of home! 
At eleven o’clock I shut the piano, saying, — 

“ Early to bed, and early to rise, 

Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” — 


192 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


the maxim with which my father always used to 
check my childish objections to going to bed. 

‘^Why, are you going to turn us out?” laughed 
Frau von Loben. ‘'A fine hostess you are!” 

I really had forgotten that I was the hostess and 
consequently was compelled by politeness to sit up 
until three o’clock, if necessaiy, and then to declare 
that my eyes were closing from enjoyment, not from 
weariness. I begged pardon, and assured them that I 
was not tired, but was thinking of the children. 

‘‘ Oh, we’re all at home,” laughed Frau von Loben, 
and then added, heartily, I don’t know when I have 
enjoyed myself so much ! What fools people are, 
to allow themselves to be governed by outside things ! 
But it can’t be helped, I suppose.” 

Just as she was leaving the room, an idea suddenly 
struck her, and she turned back : — 

Why, your guest didn’t come, and didn’t even 
send any excuse. How very rude of him!” 

Oh, yes, he was here ; and you yourself brought 
him. Thank you for having done so.” 

She was really almost angry when I gave the ex- 
planation. 

‘H thought it was something of the sort,” said the 
little cadet. I saw her mischievous look ; and, be- 
sides, 'therein I recognize my Pappenheimersl’ ” 

The boy has seen me twice, and pretends to know 
me so well 1 

" My child, it is easier to be wise after than before,” 
said Aunt Schonau, tapping him on the shoulder. But 
a cadet is not so easily rebuffed. My Max Piccolo- 


IT IS THE FASHIOH, 


193 

mini shook off the heavy hand of the old lady, and 
answered, — 

‘‘But I knew it; for I saw in the Fraulein’s face 
that she was fooling us.” 

“ Attempt to fool a royal cadet !” I said, laughing. 
“ Never would I be so presumptuous !” 

“ Oh, there is some disagreeable moral or some 
good advice hidden under the joke about the guest,” 
said Bertha, in a tone intended to be jesting, but in 
which there lurked a trace of sarcasm. “ Probably 
it is that cheerfulness is now only a guest, and once 
was a member of the family.” 

“ Not only merely a guest, but a rare guest,” re- 
torted Frau von Schonau, in my place; “because 
now people try to {purchase his presence, and the 
more they pay for it the surer they feel of securing it.” 

“Oh, well, I knew Fraulein von Schonerbrunn 
would not give us any pleasure without a moral 
tacked on to it,” said Bertha, sharply. 

“ We’ve had the pleasure, so never mind the moral,” 
laughed Wanda. “ Ask us soon again,” she said, in 
her childlike way. “We’ll promise to bring cheerful- 
ness, and I am going to bring my husband, for I’m 
not satisfied even with all these cavaliers.” She cast 
a laughing glance on the President, Joachim, and 
Dietrich, kissed her hand to the cadet, bade me 
an affectionate good-night, wrapped her pretty head 
in a most becoming hood, and took her departure, 
giving each one a kind word or a beaming look. 

She is charming, but I wish sincerely that Bertha 
had a different sort of friend. Bertha’s is not one of 


I 


17 


194 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


the natures that is improved by being spoiled. It 
makes her domineering and fosters the natural world- 
liness of her character. She is much less willing to 
accept a kindly word of reproof than she was when I 
first knew her. I have never pretended to give such, 
except when it was brought about naturally by some 
discussion or interchange of sentiment. At first she 
would occasionally yield her opinion, but now she 
always insists that she is in the right, — sometimes in a 
very disagreeable manner. Her mother shakes her 
finger at her, but regards her impertinence as wisdom. 
I now reply only by deep courtesies, — the deeper the 
more decided her rudeness, thus showing her that I 
am not entirely averse to form, after all. Really, I 
think I am quite capable of making a court reverence, 
and could be presented at once, so thoroughly does 
she keep me in practice. 

The enthusiasm for the little Countess is universal 
in the family, and, though Dietrich and Joachim both 
say ‘‘ she turns Bertha's head, and is by no means a 
suitable companion for her," Frau von Loben at once 
enters the lists against them. 

‘‘Apart from everything else," she says, “what 
an advantage to the child when she goes into society 
next winter !" and then reproaches me for not show- 
ing more interest in this approaching grand occasion. 

“ You have only half a heart for us," she said, the 
other day. “ You are of a cold nature. You and I 

are as different as — as " As she could not find 

a fitting simile, I said, “ As an old-fashioned Dutch 
tile stove and a modern fireplace." 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


195 

‘‘That is true!'* she cried. “ How quickly is a fire 
lighted in the fireplace, cheering every heart !” 

“Yes,” I retorted, “and how quickly is it ex- 
tinguished, without constant replenishing! whereas 
the old stove, once heated, glows on with its even, 
comforting warmth through the whole long winter’s 
day.” 

But equanimity is regarded as coldness by these 
straw-like natures. I am not wounded by the re- 
proach, and I have a sort of presentiment that the 
day will come when Bertha will be glad to fly to 
the contemned old stove for relief from the biting 
cold ; for Countess Wanda is born only for sunshine, 
and I see heavy clouds brooding over this house. 
Caroline said to me the other day, “ What impudent 
people there are in this town! They often besiege 
young Herr Joachim’s door, and when I tell them he 
is not at home, they won’t believe me ; and some- 
times he is at home and won’t show himself. But 
it’s just like their Jewish impudence!” 

I cannot say how this pains me. Of course I know 
what it means ; but I don’t know what to do about it. 
Shall I speak to Dietrich ? But he is so little to be 
depended on just now; his manner and temper are 
so uneven that I should imagine him to be in similar 
difficulties, had not Frau von Loben given me a 
different key to the mystery. She says she believes 
that he had some idea of addressing a young lady 
of rank and great wealth, but that, ere he had fully 
decided so to do, another carried off the prize. The 
mother calls it an unfortunate speculation, and says 


196 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


it is only pique and ill humor, for his heart was not 
interested. Perhaps she is in the wrong, — I am sure 
I hope so. I believe better things of Dietrich. To 
court a woman without loving her ! What a pity if 
my young friend have thus done violence to his own 
fine character and fallen into one of the sins of the 
day ! Perhaps the Jews are standing before his door 
also, and driving him to this wretched step. But 
how noble it is to seek a woman’s best treasure, and 
offer nothing in return, only desiring it as a means 
of paying the usury on folly and extravagance ! 


FOURTEENTH LETTER. 


The President’s friend has been here again, and 
has proved a friend worthy the name. It was de- 
lightful to see the pleasant, jovial way in which he 
strove to tafee some of the weight from the Presi- 
dent’s mind. All honor to friendship ! True, it is a 
sober and a comparatively rare feeling between men, 
and in them lacks the fire usual in women’s attach- 
ments ; but what does that matter, if, when put to 
the test, it is not found wanting ? I believe that men’s 
hearts and women’s hearts are of totally different 
construction. One is like a narrow, winding path, 
hard to enter and hard to leave, — the other, like a 
broad high-road, open to all. Both have their advan- 
tages and their disadvantages. Sometimes, with men, 
the passage is closed altogether, — a thing that rarely 
happens with us women, for the road is too wide 
and open. 

As all the efforts of the police have not succeeded 
in discovering any traces of the robbers, the President 
insisted so pertinaciously upon forcing on his friend 
an acknowledgment of the sum stolen, that he could 
do nothing but accept it. He took it with a strange 
look. I am sure I am not wrong in supposing that 
the note will be destroyed over the President’s grave, 
if not even sooner. The good old gentleman only 
remained two days, and now the former arrangements 
17* (197) 


198 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


are restored. My two little guests I resigned most un- 
willingly. Joachim has his old room, but not his old 
light-heartedness. He no longer sings me to sleep, 
but keeps me awake by walking up and down at 
all hours of the night. A few nights ago, I was 
awakened by the voices of the two brothers in excited 
conversation. Of course I could not understand a 
word, but I thought I heard Joachim sobbing. How 
is it possible that Frau von Loben should notice so 
little and treat so lightly the evident depression of 
her sons ? 

Oh, they're probably in debt," she said to me, 
not long since. Well, they’ll have to settle it for 
themselves ; I sha’n’t interfere.” 

Of course I cannot. Perhaps it is only my wish 
to be of some assistance that makes me imagine that 
Dietrich is seeking an opportunity to make a confi- 
dante of me. He looks at me sometimes as though 
he would gaze into my inmost soul. Well, I have 
nothing to conceal, so I do not refuse to the anxious 
eyes the encouraging glance they seem to seek. But 
I can do no more. When the fruit is ripe, it falls 
from the tree. Ah, here comes Dietrich, just as I 
was writing of him, and begs an interview. He is in 
full uniform, but looks like a chief mourner. I have 
given him my arm-chair, a favor I do not always 
vouchsafe him, and have begged permission to finish 
this sentence. So I must stop now, but after awhile 
will tell you the result 

Later. — Prepare to be astonished, my dear 

Count ! But you will not be more so than I have 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


199 


been. I feel precisely as though I had been reading 
a chapter in a particularly trashy novel ; however, 
all’s well that ends well. I closed my writing-desk, 
and seated myself on the sofa with a dignity suited 
to the elegance of my visitor’s costume. He seemed 
very much embarrassed, and I purposely began to 
talk of various indifferent things, so as to give him 
time to recover; but it was of no avail. He twisted 
about on my favorite arm-chair till I trembled for its 
safety and was on the point of going to the kitchen 
and getting him a three-legged stool. He turned 
over all my books and made dog’s-ears in them, 
— a thing that invariably drives me to desperation. 
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but did not, 
and stared at me as though I were an outlandish 
animal which he had to describe before some learned 
society. I felt half amused, half sympathizing; but 
at last he seized a pair of scissors and began to 
bore a hole in my beloved arm-chair. This was 
really too much, and I snatched them from his hand, 
exclaiming, — 

“ What is the matter with you, to-day?” 

His tongue seemed suddenly loosed, and a most 
extraordinary stream of disjointed sentences followed, 
— something about love and respect, his parents, his 
brothers and sisters, myself, and dear knows what else; 
and the more I stared, trying in vain to discover 
whether he really had gone crazy or not, the more 
confused did his words grow. At last he brought 
out something that sounded like a request for my 
nand. 


200 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


“Whom am I to marry I asked; “you, or Joa- 
chim, or George ?’’ 

Indeed, why not the cadet? If I intend losing 
my wits at all, I may just as well do the thing 
thoroughly. He tried to look as resentful as he 
could, and stammered something about his dearest 
wish, — my great kindness, which had encouraged 
him to the step, — and actually had the impudence to 
say he had hoped to find my heart not utterly unim- 
pressed ! My only answer was, — 

“ How much are you in debt ?” 

“ Are you, then, so very cautious, or what do you 
take me for?’' he exclaimed, springing to his feet; but, 
seeing me perfectly unconcerned, he sat down again. 

“ Neither cautious nor short-sighted," I replied ; 
“ and therefore I ask, How much do your debts 
amount to, and have you no other means of paying 
them than by marrying a poor, crooked old woman ? 
For shame! for shame 1" 

“ You do injustice to yourself and to me,” he said. 
“ I am not actuated merely by venal motives, and 
you — you are not old, and you exaggerate your mis- 
fortune. I could tell you of several of my compan- 
ions-in-arms who have never remarked it, but have 
remarked your attractive appearance.” 

“And so my poor person was submitted to the 
judgment of a committee of your friends, ere you 
finally concluded to do me this overpowering honor ! 
Delightful 1” I interrupted. 

“ No one knows of my action save Joachim," he 
answered. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


201 


“ And does he vouchsafe his approval I asked, 
growing extremely angry. 

“ He knows, like myself, that you are worthy of 
all love and of all honor,'’ he answered, earnestly ; 
“ and that is the thing of most importance. I know 
plenty of young wives who have made their husbands 
very unhappy. You are certainly not more than six 
years my senior, and I know a lady who was twelve 
years older than her husband, and yet survived 
him.” 

“And you regard that as a part of conjugal happi- 
ness, to outlive one’s husband? What an original 
view of the subject ! It is perfectly indifferent to me 
what other people have done or have not done. I 
follow the dictates of my own heart.” 

And now I bestowed upon him a severe lecture, 
and spared him none the more for feeling most kindly 
towards him in my secret heart, and, although I 
would not marry him, desiring to bring him to a 
sense of the disgracefulness of the proceeding, and 
then to help him out of his troubles. But in the 
midst of my lecture, while my so-called lover sat lis- 
tening like a school-boy in disgrace, half defiant, half 
ashamed, and without answering a word, I was so 
overpowered all of a sudden with a sense of the utter 
ludicrousness of the situation that I threw myself 
back and laughed until I cried. Now he became 
furious. 

“ How can you treat me so ?” he exclaimed. “ Am 
I a child ? I offer you the best gifts a man can offer, 

— my hand, my name ” 

1 * 


202 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


** Many thanks,” I interrupted. But I find two 
hands quite sufficient, and am perfectly satisfied with 
my own name ; and in any case the gifts would be 
utterly worthless to me without one which you have 
forgotten, — the heart.” 

He opened his mouth to make some reply, but 
could only bring out something about ‘‘ respect.” I 
did not allow him to proceed, but, having now com- 
pletely recovered my equilibrium, went on with my 
lecture. I had laughed away all my anger, and a 
feeling of friendly compassion took its place. I paid 
no attention to his embarrassment, contradictions, or 
arguments. Gradually the truth came out. I brought 
him to a sense of the absurdity and sin of his conduct, 
and then the rest followed of its own accord. The 
story is a sad one enough. He is in debt, and, I 
think, to a considerable amount ; but it was not that 
which drove him to the step ; his necessities are not 
pressing, and are not of a character to endanger his 
standing as an officer, and so he dresses the whole 
future in blue and gold, and hopes that a thousand 
different things may occur, any one of which would 
release him from his difficulties. But another and a 
more pressing trouble came upon him, driving the 
poor fellow to attack this unprotected female, and to 
demand, not my money or my life,” but both, after 
the most approved method of modern fashionable 
highway-robbery. In few words, the case is as follows. 
The boy Joachim is also in debt. For what? Why, 
what does a youth of his age not want? Cigars to 
smoke while studying, patent-leather boots and kid 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


203, 


gloves for balls — perfumes, pomades, etc. Trifles, 
perhaps, in themselves, but they make a hole in the 
money, especially when the easy method of having 
them charged’* is resorted to. Several hundred 
thalers are easily squandered, above all by an elegant 
young gentleman like Joachim, who wears none but 
kid gloves and the most stylish coats, to whom any 
but the most spotless linen is a genuine affliction, and 
who is compelled at every sudden shower to take 
a droschke for the sake of all these elegant articles ; 
who ornaments his room with a thousand expensive 
trifles; whom nothing would induce to buy his school- 
books at a second-hand establishment, but who insists 
on purchasing the most elegantly-bound editions, and 
has them rebound as soon as a spot appears upon 
them ; and, finally, who visits concerts and theatres 
to an unlimited extent. This has been going on for a 
long time ; but the attack of love for the handsome 
Englishwoman brought things to a climax. It is 
startling to see what the boy has spent at the florist’s 
alone, — the one who provided him with the bouquets 
for his fair flame. Even his mother has her flowers 
purchased in market, and arranges them herself. But 
the young gentleman has neither time nor taste for 
such work, and, besides, he regards this pastoral 
employment as unmanly. 

‘*"But who would lend such a child money?” I 
could not help exclaiming. 

“ Not honest people, I am sorry to say,” said 
Dietrich, sadly ; and explained to me the tortuous 
windings of such affairs, and the danger to honor. 


204 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


reputation, and happiness incurred by those who 
enter the fatal labyrinth. 

The boy was soon in the greatest embarrassment. 
Discovery threatened, and of course,' in consequence, 
expulsion from the Gymnasium and he dared not 
apply to his father. It appeared that some time ago 
he was in a similar predicament, and the discovery 
had distressed the President so bitterly that they 
really trembled for the consequences of this improved 
edition of Joachim’s former delinquency. Once be- 
come confidential, Dietrich went on to tell me another 
circumstance, which made an appeal to the President 
really out of the question. You remember the scene 
I wrote you of, some time since, about the theatre- 
tickets ? Dietrich followed his father from the room, 
fearing lest the excitement should cause him a hem- 
orrhage, as had happened once before on his suffering 
great annoyance concerning some official business. 
Fortunately, this was not the case; but this anxiety 
was exchanged for another, and it was with trem- 
bling lips that Dietrich told me what all save he and 
myself are ignorant of. His father fears that he 
will be compelled to resign his position. He has 
struggled long against this conviction, seeing the 
absolute necessity for the step, and yet procrastinating 
and postponing it for his family’s sake; and, although 
his health grows weaker and weaker every day, still 
he struggles on. Dietrich had been thunderstruck at 
this information (for they all seem blinded to the 
sufferings of the poor man, either from having grown 
accustomed to them, or else by their own sanguine 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


205 


dispositions), yet had the good sense to cheer and 
encourage the sick man as much as possible. He 
begged and urged upon him to take a three months' 
leave, to visit some watering-place, and on his return 
to see if his health would permit of his retaining his 
office. At last he consented. His son argued him 
out of his pecuniary scruples, and, unhappily at a 
sacrifice of truth, set his mind at rest as to his own 
circumstances, and thus finally won from him the 
desired promise. 

‘‘ If my father resigns, it will be signing his death- 
warrant," said Dietrich, with tears in his eyes. “ For 
then he will give up entirely, and the disease will 
have full play. And, oh, how hard it will be for him 
to die ! If you only could have heard him the other 
day ! He has no thought save for us ; he has fairly 
carried my mother in his arms all her married life ! 
Who can ever take his place with her? His distress 
about her and us is heart-rending, and every sacrifice 
must be made to set his mind at rest." 

The poor fellow with difficulty repressed his tears ; 
and, in my deep sympathy for him and for them all, 
I forgot the folly and extravagance that had sapped 
the foundations of this frail edifice. 

To return to Joachim. Dietrich was his only hope ; 
he applied to him for help, and he gave it, — which 
was brotherly enough, but utterly unreflecting ; for he 
himself had nothing but debts, and consequently had 
no honorable means of procuring the money. But the 
money was procured, and his word given as security 
the last resource in such cases, so he told me. He never 
18 


206 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


would have done this for himself; but his brother 
needed his help, and before the note fell due some- 
thing might turn up. So he argued. Nothing did 
turn up. Twice was the note renewed, and the debt 
increased ; now something must be done ; the rest 
you know. I was shocked at the abyss on the brink 
of which these two really talented and promising 
young men stood, and at the danger that they would 
pay for temporary levity with the happiness and 
prosperity of their whole lives. 

This has been going on for months,” said Dietrich. 

I have for a long time seen the pressing necessity 
of putting an end to the disgraceful affair. I am the 
eldest ; I must do something for my brothers and 
sisters, and I cannot without money ; so last winter 
I had some idea of seeking the hand of a young lady 
for whom I had a far less warm feeling than I have 
for you ” 

The more shame to you !” I cried. 

' ‘‘But she married some one else ” 

“ And the calculation didn’t come out right,” I 
interrupted ; and, really provoked by his frankness, 
which, after all, was the most creditable part of the 
whole concern, I continued : “ Even if I were vain 
enough to consider myself capable of inspiring a 
passion in a young heart, or so eager to be married 
as to accept the first who offered, how would your 
position be improved ? One debt would be paid, it 
is true, but you would have contracted a heavier one. 
We do not with impunity trifle with our neighbor’s 
nappiness, my friend.” 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


207 


Again came that dreadful '‘respect” which the poor 
fellow tries to use as a sort of plaster for my wounded 
pride. 

“ I would never have done it, had I not respected 
you deeply and hoped to become through you a 
better man. Indeed, I am so already.” 

“ Thanks ; I believe I do see some improvement ; 
but a pupil is not apt to marry his school-mistress.” 

"I have, indeed, learned much from you,” he said, 
in his frank way. 

“Well, then, learn something more; learn that like 
seeks like, and that love, and love alone, should be 
the cause of marriage.” 

“That is rarely the case nowadays,” he said, “at 
least in our rank of life; there are too many demands 
upon us for us to be free to choose.” 

“ Every one can be free to choose, if he have char- 
acter enough to throw aside the superfluities that 
have nothing to do with real happiness, and if he be 
willing to resign meretricious show and display for 
solid home comfort.” 

“And if he could do all this,” asked the young man, 
“where is the woman who would pledge herself to 
such a lot, or who has been fitted by her bringing-up 
to be happy in unpretentiousness so unsuited to her 
rank ?” 

“That I cannot say,” I was compelled to answer; 
“ but this I do know, that he who seeks will find, 
and I am sure that simplicity and modesty will at- 
tract the like-minded, just as folly draws around her 
her own frivolous court.” 


2o8 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


Dietrich seemed lost in thought. ‘‘ Even acknowl- 
edging all this,” he said, suddenly, ‘‘that is not all. 
I cannot forget the future ; and how' could I bring up 
my children suitably, if I married a portionless, or 
even a moderately well-off, girl? Remember my 
father! See how anxiety and care are robbing his 
last days of rest and peace.” 

“Bring them up to be useful men and women, and 
then they will not only be fitted for any station, but 
will do it honor,” I answered. “ That is the best 
security for their future, and, indeed, the only one 
which I think parents owe to their children. No 
man is bound to win a fortune for his children, if he 
have given them the means to gain their daily bread. 
That is their surest capital. Look around you in the 
world : what the fathers struggle for, the children squan- 
der ; many a sigh, many a care of the mother is woven 
in the daughter’s finery, and many a fair hope is blasted 
by idleness and spendthrift habits. Who teaches the 
children from their very cradle to drink champagne, 
to wear silk, and to scorn putting their hands to 
honest labor? And is there in the oft-repeated song 
a solitary note of true content?” 

He said something about the necessities of our 
station, but that he was sure many longed to break 
the chains that bound them. 

I could hardly help smiling. 

“ You hang the chains on your own limbs,” I said, 
“ and turn even love into a mere traffic, and then talk 
of ‘longing for release.’ As for the requirements of 
your station, high and honorable must they be I For 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


209 

they must be complied with, even with the assistance 
of Jews, notes of hand, and broken hearts.” 

He bit his lips, yet restrained himself, and con- 
tinued, quietly, — 

‘‘You must not undervalue these requirements. 
As members of a body, we are forced to submit to 
the laws that govern it. I cannot live as a soli- 
tary in my corps ; I cannot exclude myself from 
association with my brother officers ; and, when they 
have any common object in view, I cannot refuse to 
contribute my share of the expense, whether it be 
beyond my means or not. I acknowledge that, had 
I sufficient character and self-denial, I could withdraw 
from many expensive pleasures, and might give up 
many habits not suited to my circumstances. I need 
not attempt to vie with those who are supposed to 
represent my rank in society, — although all this would 
be very hard; but there are many things from which, 
out of feeling for my comrades, I could not possibly 
exclude myself. Besides, who takes the trouble to 
inquire what our income is, when custom has settled 
how much we must spend? We float with the tide. 
The wind carries us on ; and over that we have no 
influence.” 

“Are you, then, a weathercock ?” I asked. “ If so, 
go on turning obediently; if not, tread your own 
path bravely. Where the stream is too strong for 
you to breast, is no place for you.” 

The poor fellow looked distressed and sighed 
deeply. 

“ But what is a poor devil to do,” he said, “ when 
18* 


210 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


he has not even enough to keep up a proper appear- 
ance, — not to speak of pleasures and enjoyments?’’ 

I could not help thinking that he had chosen very 
improper means to make a proper appearance ; but I 
kept the thought to myself, for I concluded I had 
talked enough, and that it was now time to act It 
was a difficult matter to persuade him to accept my 
assistance, even for Joachim ; for himself he refused 
it absolutely. Indeed, I doubt if I should have been 
able to do much good; for you know I am not exactly 
rich. I had not with me even as much as Joachim 
required, but gave Dietrich a check on my banker. 
He took it with tears of shame, though I tried to 
treat the matter as lightly as possible. 

Is that little sum of money of more value than 
myself?” I asked, jestingly. “You were willing to 
take me!' 

“ I would have made you happy, upon my honor,” 
he said. 

“ I will attend to my own happiness, thank you. 
Do you take care of yours.” 

He stood hesitatingly before me. “ May I still 
count on your friendship ?” he asked. 

“ Indeed you may,” I answered, giving him my 
hand. 

He returned in five minutes, bringing Joachim with 
him. I purposely had not forbidden his telling the 
boy the author of his relief I had no ambition to 
play the secret benefactress, — not on account of the 
thanks, but because I hoped that my knowledge of 
the affair might spur him on to amendment. I did 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


2II 


not rightly appreciate how much the poor fellow had 
suffered, until I saw his joy at his release; and his 
principal thought seemed to be that his father would 
be spared the distress of hearing of his misconduct. 

“ That was the worst of all,” he said, with real 
emotion. I tried to deepen the impression by recall- 
ing to his mind the peril in which he had placed his 
brother. He really had been ignorant of this, for 
Dietrich had said nothing to him of it. Noble-minded 
again, but, as usual, in the wrong direction. Why 
should he have concealed from Joachim the possible 
results of his conduct? I know / should have let it 
cost him just as much anxiety as possible. It was 
touching to see the two brothers together, — the one 
in his gratitude and contrition, the other striving to 
cheer up the poor little sinner as much as possible. 

‘‘ Never, never will I get into debt again,” declared 
Joachim. ‘‘ I will be a regular scamp if I do. Yes, 
Fraulein Hildegard, you can call me a scamp if I do!” 
And then, running from the room, he returned with 
his elegant cigar-case, and begged me to keep it for 
him. 

‘‘ I won’t smoke another cigar until I can ransom 
the case with my debt to you,” he declared, in the 
most solemn manner. I took it, and treated the 
vow as a serious matter, although I could hardly 
help laughing at the boy’s emphasis. Then we sat 
down, and the two bestowed upon me such confi- 
dences as a mother receives from her sons. The 
naivete of their confessions was really touching. I 
must have been a sort of female Solomon, to give the 


212 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


amount of good advice expected of me. Children/’ 
I said, ‘‘you are happy in that you have a home and 
parents ; cling to them as much as possible; let them 
always be in your thoughts, and be at home and 
with your family just as much as you can.” 

“ But our parents are so little at home,” said Die- 
trich, sadly. 

He said no more; and I too was silent, for I did not 
care to go more deeply into his family affairs, lest I 
should show him shadows where it is best he should 
see only light. That piety which should be the 
foundation of all the relations of life should inspire 
a respectful reverence towards parents, even past the 
unreasoning years. Piety does not blind us to their 
faults, but tenderly covers them with the mantle of 
love. It does not condemn; it hardly even judges, 
and silently ascribes all failings to the human, and 
therefore erring, nature of those to whom God has 
given their authority. 

It certainly is a phase of the universal disregard 
of old landmarks, the contempt of time-honored 
boundary-lines, that the children now assert their 
own opinion against that of their parents, and that, 
in the independence they claim so early, they place 
instinct in stead of experience, and set up their own 
judgment in opposition to those older and wiser than 
themselves. I blame the unwise parents who permit 
or encourage this. I blame the unfilial children who 
are not restrained by love and duty. I pity the times 
that have to bear the fruit. The poisoned root is in 
the family circle, but its top reaches up to heaven ; 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


213 


for the contempt of home authority becomes con- 
tempt of social rules and disregard of human law, 
perhaps at last of divine law also. ‘‘ Honor thy 
father and thy mother, that thy days may be lon^ in 
the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.’' How 
often do I think of the commandment as I look on 
the tottering pillars upon which rests this home! 
They are crumbling and rotten. The mother is 
wrapped up in this world, and her affections set 
wholly on things beneath. Hov/ can she prove the 
guardian angel, ennobling, exalting, and improving 
those dear to her ? Helpless, characterless, a dark 
future lies before her, — a future in which she should 
be her children’s guiding star. My dear Count, 
I often think. Heaven be praised that I have no hus- 
band nor children, for the husband and children of 
Frau von Loben cause me anxiety enough! No, 
indeed, I do not complain of this little burden upoil 
my shoulder, for perhaps it has spared me a far 
heavier one on my heart. 


FIFTEENTH LETTER. 


Are you not out of all patience with my letters ? 
You know you told me to let you read every line in 
my book of life, and, without regard to rhetoric, to 
allow my pen to chatter as my tongue used to. 
Communicativeness is born in our sex ; it is the 
stream on which we float over many of the sorrows 
and difficulties of life. But if the stream burst its 
bounds, what then ? Scandal and gossip are the re- 
sults. There are only too many such streams ; and 
woe unto those who fall into the muddy current, for 
it will leave them spotted and defiled. 

How hard it is, with our better knowledge, to out- 
argue the natural logic of an unschooled mind ! 

‘‘ That’s a false representation of the world,” said 
Caroline, as she was dusting my globes the other 
day. ** How do they make a ball of it. I’d like to 
know ?” 

Caroline,” I announced, gravely, the earth is 
round, and revolves.” 

Heaven forbid ! What a tumbling about there 
would be !” 

I showed her a fly, which very obligingly, as if ex- 
pressly to furnish me with an illustration, was taking 
a promenade on the under side of the globe. 

‘‘ Oh, yes. I’ve often seen them ; but they have 

(214) 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


215 


hooks on their feet, and we are not flies,” she an- 
swered, completely overthrowing my practical illus- 
tration. I came to the conclusion that any further 
scientific explanations would be thrown away. 

“ Plenty of things in the world are upside down,” 
I said. She understood me instantaneously. 

‘‘To be sure they are,” she answered; “but every- 
thing that is, is sure to fall, sooner or later ; there’s no 
help for it.” 

“ But we may stretch out our arms to support the 
falling,” I said, thinking aloud, as it were. 

“Your arms are so delicate and thin,” she said, 
patting them compassionately, “ that I don’t believe 
they’d do much good. Just you use mine when you 
want them; that’s the best way. The head is the 
master, and the limbs are the servants.” 

“ Those are not all that are necessary, though,” I 
said. 

“ No, indeed,” she answered. “ Without a good 
heart and a good digestion, the head is upset and the 
limbs are weak and good for nothing. People can 
stand on their heads a little while, but they cannot 
go forward in that way; and so it’s better everything 
should stand properly and in its own place.” 

She looked at me askance, as if wondering if I 
understood her real meaning. If everybody had her 
sound head, it would make little difference whether 
the world revolved or not. 

But the way that I came to make Caroline the 
text of to-day’s letter is, that through her means the 
thief has at last been discovered. It is difficult to 


2i6 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


tell yet how much will be recovered; but the crimi- 
nals are in safe keeping, and Caroline may justly 
claim all the credit. I will let her speak for herself 
‘‘ Such a thing as has happened to me !” she ex- 
claimed, bursting into my room the other day on 
returning from an errand. ‘‘ I was going to that big 
dry-goods store, — I don’t know the name, but you’ve 
read about it in the papers, — in Albrecht Street, where 
you get things almost for nothing, though they all 
come from Paris, — a cheap place Paris must be ! 
Well, I was anxious to know what some neckerchiefs 
that you get for nothing would cost ; so I went in. I 
hadn’t on any silk gown or satin bonnet, so I had to 
wait ; for you could see from my dress that I was a 
servant. But I didn’t mind waiting, for I like to 
watch people, and when I go out that is my idle time, 
and I like to learn something. So I stood there, 
watching all the finely-dressed ladies sitting buying 
things, and the elegant gentlemen that stood selling 
them, and how they said the price of this was three 
guilders, and then, after talking for ever so long, took 
one guilder for it; and then I began to understand 
what buying things for nothing meant. And you can 
buy them for nothing, too, because they have plenty 
of worthless things, and if you let yourself be talked 
over into getting them, you have bought them for 
nothing, that’s certain. Yes, I’ve got two good eyes 
in my head, and I’m not going to buy cobwebs fot 
linen, I can tell you. Well, only just think, while I 
was standing there, there was a man not far off, and 
his back was turned to me, but I felt sure I’d seen 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


217 


him some place. While I was trying to think about 
it, I saw something queer about his movements — I 
never saw such a quick way as he had, too. He was 
putting on his glove as he was standing by the coun- 
ter. It w^as a very small glove, and fell down twice 
before he could get it on ; and as he picked it up I 
saw that he had picked up something else, I couldn’t 
see what, at the same time. I was rubbing my eyes, 
wondering if I saw right, when he turned around, and, 
lo and behold ! it was Henrietta’s young man, — the 
friend of that rogue of a Runnstadter, who wears his 
master’s clothes instead of brushing them. So I just 
tried to look as if it wasn’t me, and stepped behind a 
stout lady, so he couldn’t see me. I had just before 
my eyes a great bunch of dark-red velvet and loops 
and bugles, — the lady’s bonnet, I mean ; but I peeped 
through a little hole between two of the bows, though 
the beads were so shiny they hurt my eyes. I was 
in a great state, for I wasn’t quite sure whether he 
really was stealing or not ; but I thought to myself, 
‘You just watch and see, and, if he is, catch him be- 
fore he can get out’ But that moment a lady dropped 
her handkerchief, and he stooped and handed it to her 
as polite as you please ; but I saw as he gave it to 
her he had a pocket-book in his hand he’d not had 
there before, and like a flash he put it in his pocket 
The other day, when you sent me to the theatre, 
in the piece there was a man arrested. Some one 
came out and put his hand on his shoulder and 
said, ‘ In the name of the king, you are my pris- 
oner.’ But I thought that couldn’t be the right way 
K 19 


2I8 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


here; for what has the king to do with a thief? And, 
besides, I suppose he wasn’t my prisoner, exactly; so 
I did it differently. I seized him by the arm, and 
cried, just as loud as I could, ‘ Hold him fast! He’s 
stealing.’ All the fine ladies sprang up as though 
he was going to murder them, and he tried to push 
me down and run. But I’m from the countiy, and 
he’s only a thin sort of fellow, so I held him tight till 
the gentlemen behind the counter called in help, and 
then they had him fast enough ; and they turned out 
his pockets, and there was the pocket-book, and ever 
so much lace and ribbon that he had bought ‘ for 
nothing.’ And only think ! you may believe me or 
not, but the rascal had all the silver that was stolen, 
and the rest of them were in with him. I’ve thought 
so for a long time; but, until one is certain of those 
things, it isn’t well to spoil any one’s character.” 

Ah, Caroline, if every one were but of that opinion, 
perhaps many criminals might escape, but we at least 
would be freed from that vile sin called calumny ! 

Caroline was right. The discovery of the one thief 
brought the whole matter to light, for he gave up his 
two accomplices, the “Jubileer,” as Joachim insists 
upon calling my friend Runnstadter since his '‘jubi- 
lee,” and Henrietta, the servant, who, being pardoned 
for her first trivial dishonesties, was thereby encour- 
aged to become thus bold and enterprising. They 
are all three in custody; but I doubt if they feel quite 
so jovial as when I surprised them at the tea-table 
some time ago. I only hope that the President may 
recover his money. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


219 


About the silver, Frau von L5ben says, — 

I should be rather sorry than otherwise to recover 
it, for I had set my heart on getting some more fash- 
ionable instead.” 

She is much provoked at the whole affair, and 
really indignant with Caroline for having, as she 
says, ‘'deprived her of an excellent servant.” 

Of course the children are in the greatest excite- 
ment. Arthur never permits Clarchen to come across 
the corridor to my door without accompanying her 
with a drawn sabre; and they have acted the whole 
thing so often, from beginning to end (changing, 
however, with poetic license, the dry-goods store 
into a bakery), that I have been compelled to in- 
terdict the play. The fact is, it was rather hard on 
Clarchen, for Arthur was the thief, and promptly 
devoured the stolen goods, and she, poor little thing, 
as the keeper of the store, was thus regularly 
deprived of her share of cake, and, with her usual 
lovely, uncomplaining self-sacrifice, quietly contented 
herself with a piece of bread. So few people in this 
world are self-sacrificing, and of those few such a very, 
very small part exercise the virtue unostentatiously, 
scarcely acknowledging it to themselves even, that I 
could not bear to sully so beautiful a case of the 
virtue by calling her little brother’s attention to the 
injustice of his conduct, so quietly put a stop to the 
game instead. Besides, Arthur was growing alarm- 
ingly skilful in abstracting and concealing the stolen 
goods, and I considered it much better that this 
branch of talent should be left undeveloped. 


220 


ir IS THE FASHION. 


Caroline came near regretting her heroism, for she 
was, of course, summoned as witness. I don’t know 
what horrors she expected, but when the summons 
came she turned ashy pale, and said, — 

'' I feel as though I was going into battle.” 

‘‘You would not hesitate in that case,” I said. 

“Indeed and I would, then; what are you think- 
ing of, Fraulein Hildegard? If the bullets began to 
whiz about me, I should run, to a certainty !” 

“ Caroline,” I said, struggling with laughter, “think 
of the glory !” 

“ What good would the glory do me if they shot 
off my leg ? Would it give me a new one ? and could 
I wait on you with only one leg?” 

Sound logic, to which I could not reply, especially 
as she, by her own request, has been supplying 
Henrietta’s place since that lady’s arrest, as well 
as fulfilling all her other duties. It was by this 
means that peace was made between Frau von Lo- 
ben and myself, for we nearly had a serious quarrel. 
She cannot abide my Caroline, in revenge for my 
small appreciation of her Henrietta, and displays this 
prejudice in the most unjust and unreasonable way. 
She cannot say anything against Caroline’s character 
or her efficiency, so she attacks the poor creature’s 
manners, which, she declares, are entirely too familiar. 
In vain do I urge that I have known the old woman 
since my childhood, regard her as one of my best 
friends, and have an almost filial attachment for her. 
It is all of no avail ; so I keep to my opinion, and she 
keeps to hers. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


221 


After Henrietta’s arrest, the unpardonable confi- 
dence came to light which Frau von Lobeir had 
placed in a person already known to be dishonest. 
The President learned, for the first time, the innu- 
merable trifling thefts of which she had been guilty, 
and, naturally enough, was indignant that Frau von 
Loben should not long since have discharged her. I 
never saw him so angry; and his wife defended her- 
self all the more violently for feeling conscious of 
being in the wrong. Perhaps his ill health makes 
him less capable of controlling himself, or perhaps 
the measure of silently-borne discomfort was now full. 
Be that as it may, it is certain that he spoke some 
bitter truths, without the slightest regard for my 
presence. I was most anxious to make my escape ; 
but, in the eagerness of dispute and the excitement 
of passion, Frau von Loben had seized one of my 
hands and held it in a vice-like grasp. 

Two-thirds of our income are swallowed up by the 
world,” said the President, and it may be so and 
welcome, if it gives you any pleasure, — though there 
is little enjoyment in such pleasures, after all ; but 
when you, in unpardonable carelessness or thought- 
lessness, keep in your employ those whom you know 
to be dishonest, you sin against my life, for it will not 
last much longer to win that which you so lightly 
throw away. Your spendthrift habits and careless 
housekeeping keep us straitened, even with a comfort- 
able income ; then what will become of you, deprived 
of all support, and incapable of doing anything for 
yourself? Oh, how hard it is to die when our beloved 
19* 


222 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


are left as mine will be !*' he burst forth, in agony no 
longer to be repressed. ‘‘ Is a solitary one of my 
children capable of making his way without me ? 
Tell me, do you think so, Fraulein von Schoner- 
brunn?’' he exclaimed, turning, to my dismay, towards 
me. “ The little ones will grow up like the others, 
— good children enough, and perhaps not without 
talents ; but what is there to develop them ? Heads full 
of extravagant ideas which they have no means of 
gratifying; the world full of folly and wickedness, 
and always readier to crush all good than to en- 
courage or call it forth, even if that have not already 
been done at home by their own family !’' 

He looked at me, as if awaiting an answer. 

If God be for them, who can be against them ?” I 
murmured, as the only reply I knew how to make. 

‘^True, true!’' he answered, as the tears ran down 
his cheeks ; ‘‘ but there is no excuse for the careless- 
ness of those who see the weeds growing tall and 
strong, and yet do not give the sickle into their chil- 
dren’s hands to mow them down, or the spade to 
prepare the ground I If the better seed ever spring 
up, it will be through God’s grace alone. It is hard 
to die with a sin on the conscience, even when it is 
only one of omission 1” 

With these words he left the room. Frau von 
Loben burst into tears. Is it only sickness which 
has so deprived him of energy, or has he always 
been thus powerless to oppose an evil which it is 
evident he sees and mourns over? Frau von Loben 
unconsciously answered my thought. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


223 


‘‘I don’t know what is the matter with him, 01 
what he requires of me, all of a sudden,” she said. 
‘‘I was always just as I am now, and he never found 
any fault. But he is a hypochondriac ; that is all. 
You don’t think him really sick?” 

Fortunately, she went on without waiting for an 
answer, for what could I have said? With as im- 
partial a glance as possible, I contemplated the life- 
picture she unrolled before me. Love, romance, a 
light heart, enjoyment of life, were the prominent 
features ; and whatever her carelessness neglected, or 
her fantastic whims desired, met with neither a re- 
proach nor an obstacle. She bemoaned the loss of 
this sympathy, as she called it, which, she said, had 
made her married life without a cloud ; and I could 
not but think that the cloud would not lower so 
darkly now, had it not been for the former deceitful, 
dazzling glare. Sympathy in everything good, rea- 
sonable, and noble is, doubtless, a firm foundation 
for conjugal happiness; but sympathy in folly only 
doubles its baneful influence. But the poor President 
is a hopelessly weak character. He allows himself to 
drift with the stream, has only the negative strength 
of love, and would rather make a hundred unreason- 
able sacrifices than require one sensible one. He 
has thrown his better consciousness aside, but now 
it rushes back upon him with resistless might. In 
the gloom involuntarily we strain our sight. Per- 
haps in the gloom of approaching death much be- 
comes clear to the gaze which in the daylight of life 
is seen with indistinctness. As long as the President 


224 


IT IS THE FASHIOH, 


was strong and able to work for his dear ones and 
care for their support, he was willing to take the 
labor and leave them the enjoyment. That was his 
mistake, for which his present distress and anxiety 
are a bitter penance. Poor man! 

I w^as sunk in these sad thoughts, when Frau von 
Loben began again to speak. Fancy my consterna- 
tion at hearing the following words: — 

''Yes! and I owe all this to your dreadful old 
Caroline! What business had she spying out thieves 
in my house ? It is all her fault that I had to send 
off Henrietta, and that my husband has scolded me, 
— a thing he never did before in his whole life. All 
her fault ! Will you not discharge the meddlesome 
old person?” 

I could not help laughing at this modest request, 
and, fortunately, the great child at my side was not 
so lost to all reason as to get angry at my amuse- 
ment. On the contrary, she laughed, too, although 
the tears were running down her cheeks, and threw 
her arms around my neck, looking like a personified 
April day, when I said that, instead of discharging 
poor Caroline, I was anxious for Frau von Loben to 
accept her services until she could procure another 
servant. 

" What a friend in need you are !” she exclaimed. 
" Then I will not have the torment of a new servant 
for a little while, anyhow. Oh, I’m so glad ! And 
now I’ll go and make friends with my husband, and 
scold him for frightening us. Don’t go ; I’ll be back 
directly.” 


IT IS THE FASHIOH 


225 


I am perfectly familiar with her definition of 
‘‘ directly/' but it is all the same to me whether I 
knit my stocking in my own room or hers ; so I 
remained. In about an hour she returned, all sun- 
shine. 

“ It’s all right,” she said ; ‘‘ I’m to be as happy as 
I choose, and the children too. There’s nothing the 
matter with him, nor with us. He’s only not very 
well, and is going to ask a leave of absence to go to 
the country. But I sha’n’t let him go to-the country, 
— it’s too tiresome; he must go to some watering- 
place, and take us all with him. Dietrich must get 
leave, too, and we can enjoy ourselves together!” 

I can write no more, my dear Count, but I know 
you sympathize with the distress with which I watch 
this mouldering column patched with cement and 
painted with gaudy colors. But it must fall soon; 
and what then ? 


SIXTEENTH LETTER. 


Bertha's confirmation, which was delayed by the 
illness of the officiating ecclesiastic, is just over. The 
ceremony in the church was solemn and beautiful, 
and the conduct of the whole family, especially of 
Bertha, showed respect for the seriousness of the 
occasion; but the crossing of the threshold of the 
sanctuary was not the first step into a graver life, a 
life requiring in its various phases all the powers of 
heart and soul. No, it was only the entrance into 
the world." The day was celebrated, like a birth- 
day, by the presentation of beautiful gifts, — not a bad 
custom, in its way. Why should not those who are 
interested in the fair young candidate display that 
interest by the presentation of appropriate offerings ? 
It is indeed a birthday ; the seal of completion is 
pressed upon the Christian work on heart and mind, 
and now it must go forth to exert its powers, to develop 
and grow in the temptations and trials of the outer 
world. Now it no longer walks hand-in-hand with 
physical development; that has ceased. Give toys 
and trifles to children; surely more noble gifts belong 
to the day of confirmation than the gauds and gew- 
gaws of fashion. But here these were seen in rich 
quantities. Even the watch was not wanting ; although 
Bertha’s pleasure in it was changed to anger by a 
( 226 ) 


IT IS THE FASH/OH 


227 


foolish speech of the little cadet, who, as a watch is 
frequently a bridal gift, declared that his sister was 
taking her wedding-presents in advance. 

The black dress, which Bertha had determined, in 
a paroxysm of industry, to make up herself, was 
finished by the seamstress after all. Bertha’s energy 
gave out after finishing two seams. 

Hell is paved with good intentions,” I said to her, 
as she observed, in some embarrassment, that she had 
had the best intentions in the world, but that some- 
thing had always happened to prevent. 

This time it really could not be helped,” said the 
injudicious mother, always prepared with an excuse. 

This time it could not be helped, nor another time, 
nor yet another. When? When she must. So many 
think in the same way; but the power does not always 
come with the necessity, and those who have accus- 
tomed themselves to regular activity can accomplish, 
without fatigue, three times what can be done by 
those upon whom labor has suddenly been forced. 

The cadet, who was here for the confirmation, has 
gone again, but a guest of more importance still re- 
mains, — no less a person than the ‘‘ rich aunt.” Frau 
von Loben invited her, so as to neglect no means of 
propitiation, but in the full conviction that she was 
too ailing and too morose to accept. If I ever in my 
life formed a false idea of a person, it was of Aunt 
Ludovika. There was nothing of the stiff gravity of 
her picture, and no trace of melancholy, not even of 
depression. She is in the prime of life, in robust 
health, and if the silver-gray silk dress which she 


228 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


always wears really be mourning, it is not even half- 
mourning, — not more than an eighth, I should think. 
She does not seem self-deceiver enough for such affec- 
tation. Her two nephews, who saw her for the last 
time only six months ago, are perfectly amazed at 
the change in their bereaved relation. 

The letter announcing her visit did not arrive until 
the day named for it. She requested that they would 
engage her a room in a hotel; but the President’s 
hospitality and family feeling would not allow this. 
Fortunately, we had already tried the experiment of 
accommodating an unexpected guest; otherwise Frau 
von Loben would have been completely beside herself. 
But now the arrangements were quickly made, and 
in a few hours from the receipt of the letter, lovely 
garlands of flowers were already hanging over the door 
of the room ; and Frau von Loben, as she sighed 
deeply and said, I wish she was in Guinea,” gave the 
finishing touch to the wire letters forming the word 
Welcome,” which were to be trimmed with mosses 
and hung in the guest’s chamber. 

They made great preparations for this aunt’s recep- 
tion. I don’t know whether they try to impress her 
because she is rich and they do not wish to be out- 
done, or because they think that rich people are so 
attached to their money that they object to leaving it 
where it will only relieve poverty, but prefer doing so 
where it will have a chance to be added to and in- 
creased. Frau von Loben insisted that I should be 
present at the reception (and indeed I was very 
anxious to meet the lady on whom so many hopes 


IT IS THE FASHIOH, 


229 


rested), declaring in her own gracious way that I was 
one of the family. Dietrich and Joachim met the 
guest at the depot. In considerable solemnity we 
awaited her, — the little ones in an agony of suspense 
and impatience to see if the aunt would bring them 
anything. I really think that I expected the portrait 
to step from its frame, with the peculiar rigidity of 
face and figure that we often see in photographs. 
Instead of this, a quick, active, round-faced little 
creature plunged into the room, laughing and crying 
at once, and embraced everybody in succession, and 
with such vehemence that Arthur, struggling in her 
arms, cried to me, — 

Take her off. Aunt Hildegard! take her off! she's 
choking me 1" 

She let him go, after rewarding his boyish frank- 
ness with a hearty kiss. Then followed such a stream 
of chatter that I really could distinguish nothing, save 
her desire to meet her relatives again and to see the 
little ones. She ran on like a mill-wheel, till Frau 
von Loben took advantage of a momentary pause to 
convey her away to take off her bonnet. Bertha ac- 
companied her. The little ones were following, when 
they were restrained by a glance from their mother; 
but the aunt, with the greatest tenderness, begged 
that they might be allowed to come. 

“ I have some papers to look over," said the Presi- 
dent to his sons, ‘‘ and must go into the office. Call 
me when tea is ready." 

I suspect the poor man was glad of an excuse to 
escape from the lively chatter of his new guest. As 


20 


230 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


soon as he had left, the two young men began to 
indulge their long-suppressed merriment. 

‘‘ She is a different being ! She seems to have taken 
a new lease on life,'' said Dietrich. 

‘‘ She’s either going to die or get married ! What 
on earth can be the matter?” cried Joachim. 

It appeared later that Aunt Ludovika, by the treat- 
ment of a new star in the medical world, had been 
completely cured of her liver-complaint, and restored 
to the full enjoyment of health. She talked with 
tears in her eyes of her gratitude for her restoration, 
of how differently life appeared to her in the light of 
recovered health. I’m afraid there was a severe strug- 
gle in Frau von Loben's heart between her sympathy 
and her maternal love, as she listened to her sister- 
in-law’s words and read on her blooming cheeks 
the death-sentence of all her hopes. She under- 
stood perfectly a mischievous look that I gave her, 
and answered it with a nod and a blush ; but at the 
conclusion of Aunt Ludovika’s next speech she re- 
torted with a glance of triumph. 

Before my recovery, I had not sufficient energy 
to come to a decision on any subject, even when it 
affected my interest. I loaded myself with unneces- 
sary burdens, only for the pleasure of sighing over 
them; but now I’m determined to shake off as much 
as possible all the cares that a single woman must 
find in the management of a large property.” 

Frau von Loben was evidently delighted with this 
speech, thinking that it referred to the long-talked of 
estate. How ignorant of the world, with all her 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


231 


worldliness ! A poor man would sooner give away his 
last garment than a rich man any portion of his super- 
fluities, for the former knows what it is to be in need.- 
I do not mean, however, to blame the aunt, or any 
other rich person, for not complying with such ex- 
pectations as Frau von Loben’s, even when, as in this 
case, they arc supported by the idea that the wishes 
of the dead should be respected. 

But to return to my young people. When Aunt 
Ludovika first entered the room, I had stared at 
Joachim with wonder and amazement. He had 
adopted the most extraordinary style of dress ; his 
hair was smoothed and drawn behind his ears like 
that of a candidate for the ministry ; he wore a white 
cravat, and had assumed an indescribably priggish 
manner, that amazed as much as it amused me. He 
burst into a merry laugh when she had left the room, 
as he caught my eyes resting on him in wondering 
speculation. 

‘H’m legacy-hunting !’' he said. “ My aunt used 
to be fond of this priestly, demure style ; but I’m in- 
clined to think that curls stand a better chance now.” 

He passed his hand through his hair, and the 
usual heavy curls reappeared under his fingers. Both 
the boys were so amazed at the alteration in their 
aunt that they could talk of nothing else. 

“ She has grown young again,” said Dietrich, ** and 
that in six months !” 

‘‘ Farewell legacies !” sighed Joachim. ‘H was only 
jesting; may she live long and be happy!” he 
added, hastily. 


232 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


It was some time before the aunt re-entered. She 
had unpacked and distributed beautiful presents 
among the children. Arthur appeared with a huge 
box of candy, and, as he drew his tongue over an 
empty kiss-paper, said, with feeling, — 

‘‘ I love her ; she has such good sugar-plums.” 

I soon saw that the talkativeness of Aunt Ludovika, 
as well as her excited manner, had been assumed to 
hide a certain embarrassment. The first meeting over, 
she became more dignified, and rather taciturn than 
talkative. Many persons think it shows a want of 
affection not to plunge at once into a depth of inti- 
macy with relatives, which only time and long ac- 
quaintance justify. I liked the aunt much better 
when she lost some of her extreme liveliness and 
ceased to talk only for the sake of talking. She 
seemed then a kind-hearted and sensible person. 
But there is some feeling of restraint, the cause of 
which has not yet appeared. 

She has been here for three days, and remains till 
next Saturday. This evening the Lobens passed with 
me. To-morrow there is a large company at the Presi- 
dent’s ; and day after to-morrow, that being the last 
of Aunt Ludovika’s stay, she has refused all invi- 
tations, declaring she wishes to pass it among her 
family, of which I am considered a member. Frau 
von Loben has been looking forward to that evening 
in the greatest state of excitement. She expected 
that her sister-in-law would then announce her inten- 
tions. Until this evening she had been fully con- 
vinced that Aunt Ludovika had made this visit 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


233 


merely an excuse to settle the final arrangements 
about the disposition of her estate. She had settled 
them already in her own mind, and thought that, as 
Dietrich has just reached his twenty-fifth birthday, of 
course his aunt had only been awaiting his majority 
to make over the estate to him. But from to-night’s 
occurrences it is very evident that she has no such 
idea. I do not know precisely how it came about, 
but, while they were all sitting in my parlor, Dietrich 
picked up a paper that was lying on the table and 
began to read aloud the political news. Joachim, 
becoming very tired of this, snatched the paper from 
his brother’s hand, and, always ready for mischief, 
commenced to entertain us with the advertisements, 
— everything, — births and marriages, '‘matrimonials” 
and personals,” in the most extraordinary jumble, 
mingled with recommendations of various articles of 
fashion or utility, delicacies of all descriptions, and 
numberless notices of bankruptcy and of sales of 
family estates. It was now Dietrich’s turn to take 
the paper from his brother. He did so, angrily. 

“ Don’t jest at the misfortunes of our class,” he 
said, indignantly. I hate to see the old estates pass- 
ing into ignoble hands, as though they were mere 
pieces of goods.” 

You know how fully I agree with Dietrich on this 
point. With its estates the aristocracy gives up its 
firmest hold on existence. The chink of gold almost 
drowns the poesy of family traditions. The spend- 
thrift descendant squanders the possessions of his 
fathers, and then sells holy recollections to the high- 
20* 


234 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


est bidder. Many others are driven by necessity into 
trade; for, no matter how strongly the heart may 
cling to the beloved possessions in lack of established 
institutions, gold alone can preserve them, and that 
gold the poor owner does not possess. 

You approve of the right of primogeniture?’^ said 
the President. 

Certainly I do,” I replied. “ Scorned, hated, and 
despised are the parvenus who deck themselves in 
borrowed plumes. But why are they permitted to 
assume them? Those who willingly supply them 
should be prevented ; those who are compelled to do 
so should be aided. If only this right of primogeni- 
ture were secured, industry and trade might safely be 
encouraged ; they would grow up to be supporters 
and aids to the aristocracy, and not to overstep and 
smother it. Then the two mighty pillars would 
prove worthy and beautiful columns for the state.” 

And far firmer than if either had been raised on 
the ruins of the other,” said the President. 

‘‘Yes,” I answered; “for in such buildings rats 
and mice have full play, and among the ruins of a 
decaying aristocracy rises the universally and justly 
despised race of parvenus.” 

In the eagerness of discussion I had not remarked 
several warning coughs from Frau von Loben, nor 
Aunt Ludovika’s embarrassed expression, till my 
ideas were brightened by Frau von Loben treading 
so violently on my foot under the table that I could 
not repress a shriek of dismay. Frau von Loben was 
more startled at my cry than I had been at the sudden 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


235 


attack on my foot, and she shrieked even more loudly 
than I had done. The poor aunt, amazed at all this 
uproar, sprang to her feet and echoed the cry, to the 
indescribable delight of Arthur and Clarchen. All this 
was the work of a moment. General laughter followed. 

“ My sister-in-law is a manufacturer’s daughter,” 
whispered Frau von Loben to me. 

You maltreated me for nothing,” I whispered, in 
return ; “ for she’s far too sensible to feel hurt.” 

I was right. Aunt Ludovika’s confusion arose 
from a totally different cause, as soon appeared. 

“ I have been intending to tell you ever since I 
came,” she began, hesitatingly. “ I w^as sure you 
would advise me to do it; but now I see that you 
think differently, and I’m afraid you will blame 
me. Well, honesty is the best policy.” And, en- 
deavoring to shake off her embarrassment, she con- 
tinued, ‘‘ I’ve sold my estate.” 

I felt heartily sorry for poor Frau von Loben. She 
turned first white and then crimson, and I don’t 
know what she might not have said in her excite- 
ment and surprise, had not the President spoken. 

‘'And why not, dear Ludovika?” he said, gently. 
“ Our conversation just now was only an expression 
of our wishes and opinions, which we, of course, don’t 
expect others to conform to; and, even if you thought 
as we do, your estate is not an inheritance from your 
own family, nor have you an heir to whom to secure it.” 

“ Not in a direct line, that is,” Frau von Loben 
could not help saying. 

“ That you should have done so without stringent 


236 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


reasons is a different matter/’ continued the President, 
with a reproving glance at his wife. '‘These universal 
institutions are a great blessing to some, and to others 
a heavy burden. It is hard to decide whether the 
burden or the blessing be the greater.” 

" I never thought of all that,” said the aunt. " I 
had a great deal of trouble with the place, and no 
peace of my life; and so I sold it off as soon as I 
could do so to advantage.” 

" From your stand-point, you acted perfectly right,” 
said the President, consolingly. 

" I thought your husband had a right to dispose 
of it?” said Frau von Loben, in spite of the Presi- 
dent’s warning look. 

" He had none ; the estate was mine,” replied Aunt 
Ludovika, briefly. 

Frau von Loben could not yet be stilled. 

" Perhaps he expressed some wish concerning it ; 
the wishes of the dead should always be respected.” 

"They are usually uttered under peculiar circum- 
stances, and, of course, alter with those circumstances. 
They then meet with only a conditional fulfilment.” 

An angry reply rose to the lips of the bitterly-dis- 
appointed woman ; but, fortunately, the President at 
that instant rose and looked at his watch, and we 
separated. The President has wonderful self-control. 
The foolish behavior of his wife must have mortified 
him much, and the crimson spots on his cheeks 
burned deeply ; but no one would have discovered 
his disturbance from his manner, and we all parted 
apparently in the best of spirits. 


SEVENTEENTH LETTER. 


The aunt has gone, and with her the President, 
who, in compliance with her entreaties and those of 
the whole family, accompanied his sister-in-law to 
consult the physician who afforded her so much re- 
lief The latter is to decide what watering-place the 
patient is to visit, or what other means he had better 
adopt for his restoration. Aunt Ludovika is almost 
as sanguine on this subject as Frau von Loben is on 
every subject. She tells with the most extreme faith 
of the wonderful cures performed by this physician. 
Where all others failed, he succeeded. Many more 
such men, and there would be no sick people left. 
At least so she seems to believe, so great is her 
enthusiasm for him. Frau von Loben already be- 
holds in imagination her husband restored to her in 
all the bloom of youth. I only hope that her antici- 
pations may be realized far enough for him to last a 
few years longer, and that time may be given her to 
grow accustomed to the idea of parting from him. 
Dreadful as is this hesitation between hope and fear, 
I trust it may prove a means of breaking to her the 
still more dreadful certainty. An expected evil draws 
us to God, to plead that it may be averted, and brings 
us nearer to the only real source of comfort than 
when an unforeseen sorrow, striking us unprepared, 

(237) 


238 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


drives us to temporary despair. I would do anything 
for the poor woman, and yet I know not what to do. 
I dare not rouse her from her security; for the 
slightest hint, even advice to be careful of her hus- 
band’s health, causes her such distress that I do not 
venture to give it. What will become of her when 
she learns the truth ? It seems almost strange that 
beings whom a breath can overthrow should be sent 
into a world of storms ; why such creatures as she, 
whose element is sunshine, and who are only capable 
of pleasure and enjoyment, should not have been 
created butterflies or flowers, embodiments of beauty 
and light-heartedness, instead of human beings. An 
immortal requires such different powers! It is true, 
these are not entirely denied to any, and the weakest 
can be strong in the panoply of humble, firm faith 
in God. Such a hope is like the sunlight, — not to 
be entirely obscured even in the darkest days ; any 
other is only a flashing meteor. 

Every dream founded on Aunt Ludovika is now 
over and gone. I told you of her singular manner, 
which I ascribed to a want of savoir-vivre , or to 
embarrassment. The mystery is now explained. She 
has not only sold her estate, but given away herself, 
and that secret has lain heavy on her heart during the 
whole visit. I told you that she desired to pass her 
last evening at home, and was kind enough to insist 
on my joining the family. Our circle for most of 
the evening was very small. Bertha had to go to a 
rehearsal of the French play in which she is to act, 
and, as Frau von Loben did not wish to leave 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


239 


Aunt Ludovika, Dietrich accompanied her. Joachim 
never comes now before tea-time. Ambition seems 
one of his prominent qualities. He made up his mind 
long ago to pass his examination, which he was an- 
ticipating when I first met him, in the course of his 
seventeenth year. That was last fall ; and now he 
is working with double diligence to make up for 
neglected opportunities, for he acknowledges that he 
threw away much time during this past winter. He 
has fixed hours for study, and never allows anything 
to interfere with them. He confessed to me, with 
childish naivete^ that he was wild sometimes to break 
loose. 

“ But my father,'' he said, with deep feeling, ^Tooks 
so ill, and so sad, that I should be a villain to give 
him pain ; and, besides, I must be something before 
the others, because — you know " 

And he looked at me significantly. He referred 
to his debt. I leave this chain, which he himself 
forged, upon him, but in all else help him to freedom. 

We old people, or older people, were sitting 
around the table. Gertrude was in the next room, 
busy as usual, and the little ones were with her at 
play, for the President cannot bear any noise. I 
think the poor man is failing faster than ever, from 
his very efforts to conceal his state. He was so ill 
this evening that he had to resign his usual dissimu- 
lation, but ascribed his indisposition to a heavy cold. 

“You must drink elder-flower tea, and then you 
will soon be better," said his wife. 

“You will soon be better, if you will consult 


240 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


my ” said Aunt Ludovika, and suddenly stopped, 

but, covering the pause with a cough, continued, with 
crimson cheeks, ‘'my doctor; he worked wonders 
with me.” 

The President smiled ; and, with something of his 
old playful manner, the disappearance of which his 
wife has so often lamented, he said, — 

“ Ludovika, I believe he cured something else 
besides your liver.” 

The little woman turned almost purple; she twisted 
her feet about, rubbed her hands, and at last threw 
her arms around the President, and said, in the 
greatest confusion, — 

“How did you know I was engaged? Did you 
guess it, or did somebody tell you ?” 

“ I guessed it,” answered the President, smiling. 

Frau von Loben and I looked at each other in 
complete stupefaction. Her arms still around the 
President, Aunt Ludovika continued, — 

“ Hopeless and life-weary I went to him, and he 
gave me back health and happiness. What are 
millions without health? I conceived the greatest 
respect for his talent and for himself. He gave me 
renewed strength ; he made me a new creature. I 
was trying to think how I could prove my gratitude, 
when he told me what he wished for, — the life that 
he had saved ! It is very hard to decide on marrying 
again,” she added, beginning once more to rub her 
hands confusedly. The President came to her relief by 
congratulating her heartily, and uttered not a word 
of the blame which she evidently expected and feared. 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


241 

‘‘You don’t blame me, then, for selling Lobenau, 
nor for marrying a bourgeois f ” she asked. 

“ You are perfectly free, and need only think 
whether you love him and he be worthy of you,” 
he answered. 

“ I regarded myself as a dying woman,” said Aunt 
Ludovika, in a confused but pointed manner, “ and 
actually made my will. But I have destroyed it.” 

“ Of course,” said the President. “ Circumstances 
alter cases.” 

“ My husband will naturally be my heir,” she stam- 
mered, and then laughed, as the President, trying to 
relieve her kind-hearted scruples, asked, jestingly, — 

“ Are you apologizing for getting married instead 
of dying? It is nobody’s business but your own.” 

“ That is very true,” she answered. “ I go away 
much happier than I came ; for I see that you — that 
you ” and she stopped short. 

“ That we have sufficient ?” said the President. 
“ Set your mind at rest about that.” 

The good aunt’s explanations did not, perhaps, 
display any great amount of tact ; but they showed 
such an amiable disposition, such regard for her re- 
lations, that it was impossible to object to the style 
in which she expressed them. In fact, she acted 
precisely as though she considered it her duty to 
have died, so as to prevent her first husband’s family 
from losing the inheritance, and as though she were 
ashamed of not having done so. 

To Frau von Loben’s credit, I.m u^t say that, when 
forced to confront the fait accompli of the engage- 

L 


21 


242 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


ment, she showed herself kind and sympathetic, 
and even the lost hope of the estate was forgotten 
in the brighter one of her husband’s recovery. 
In her joyful anticipations she betrayed that, per- 
haps unconsciously to herself, there was more fear 
in her heart than I ever had suspected. Perhaps 
she does not choose to acknowledge her anxiety, 
perhaps she blinds herself to the danger; for she 
has not that force of character which, although 
perfectly conscious of any approaching evil, yet 
forces it into the background, in order to concen- 
trate every power on the necessities of the moment. 
She will blind herself by false hopes and by frivolity 
until the blow falls ; and a heavy blow it will be ; for, 
though her love is a foolish, an unreasoning one, 
unable to see the requirements of duty, yet, as a 
mere feeling, it is there, and is strong enough to bear 
the weak woman to the earth. I am awaiting the 
President's return most eagerly, and will not send 
this letter until I can tell you the result of the con- 
sultation. That reminds me. Is there any Count 
Diisterloh besides yourself? and, if so, do you know 
him ? Aunt Ludovika spoke of him as the pur- 
chaser of her estate ; an agent arranged the matter, 
so she could not tell me anything of him, and, conse- 
quently, I am unable to give you any description of 
his appearance. 

Later. — The President has returned. I have not 
seen him yet, but believe that the physician gave 
him considerable encouragement ; he is not to go to 
any watering-place, — -that is absolutely forbidden, — 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


243 


but is to ask a longer leave of absence, and try a visit 
to the country. Frau von Loben is disappointed at 
this, but much delighted at the decision of the famous 
doctor, who, it appears, declared any other treatment 
useless. She came at once to tell me the good news, 
and I congratulated her with all my heart. My con- 
gratulations must have been very earnest; for she 
asked, suddenly, — 

Were you, then, uneasy, — I mean really uneasy ?'* 

She seemed so agitated by the mere thought that 
I had not the courage fully to confess how much so 
I had been. 

Later. — I was interrupted in my letter by a visit 
from the President himself. Oh, what sad news I 
have to tell you ! As I expressed my pleasure at 
the good report I had just heard, a strange smile, 
that at once destroyed every vestige of hope, appeared 
on his worn face. 

“ I was compelled solemnly to promise my wife 
that I would repeat to her, word for word, the physi- 
cian’s opinion,” he began. ‘‘ I told him this, and tnat 
for myself I desired to hear only the truth ; that, as a 
Christian, I did not fear death, — as a man, trembled 
only on account of my family, — and that I was unwill- 
ing to waste the time that remained to me in doubt, 
the cruelest enemy of all strength, mental or physical. 
He examined me thoroughly, and told me that any- 
thing but rest would be perfectly useless. I repeated 
these words to my wife,” — he smiled sadly, — “ but I 
said nothing of their meaning. I could not bear to 
speak the death-sentence.” 


244 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


I could not answer him, only clasped my hands 
silently. 

‘‘I speak openly with you,'’ he continued, ‘'be- 
cause I need some one to assist me in the work of 
love which must occupy my last remaining days, and 
because I hope to secure a friend to my bereaved 
ones, who will give them affection, help, and advice, 
when I am no more." 

I held out my hand. He grasped it, and then con- 
tinued, — 

“You will aid me in hiding the danger from my 
wife as long as possible ? I may be wrong in doing 
so ; but I confess that her grief would make a coward 
of me, and her violent despair would embitter my 
parting hours, as well as hasten them. She is utterly 
without self-control in any emergency, and passionate 
in the expression of all her feelings ; but I hope that, 
when she is brought face to face with the stern, the 
unavoidable fact that we are parted forever, God will 
give her the strength which she lacks so much, and 
which no other can give her!" 

It was no time to moralize or regret, nor to mourn 
over neglect which now, in the eleventh hour, was to 
be made good. The dying man might have asked 
what he chose ; I could have refused him nothing. 

“Your wife is naturally sanguine," I said, “and I 
will do my best to hide the truth from her." 

“And afterwards?" he asked. “You will be a 
triend to my dear ones ?" 

“ Most certainly." 

“ You are a reasonable woman, and know more 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


245 


about the requirements of life than my wife does. 
You will advise her, guide her, and smooth her way 
a little ; for I — alas ! I have always carried her over all 
the rough spots in her married life.’' 

Had he only not done so ! 

“I leave no debts,” he continued, except the 
amount stolen from us. Of that I have paid a consid- 
erable portion, and hope to pay the rest; if any balance 
remain, it must be made up by a sale of our superfluous 
furniture. If you can, do persuade my wife to move to 
a cheaper and less fashionable locality; for while here 
the demands on her purse will be unceasing, and for 
the rest of her life she will be compelled to practice 
extreme economy. It is the hardest thing in the 
world to cut the coat according to the cloth ; and in 
every class of society, though of course there are ex- 
ceptions, you will find that the majority live beyond 
their incomes.” 

And do you imagine that in a smaller town the 
style of life would be simpler?” I asked. “That has 
not been my experience.” 

“ Probably you are right,” he answered; “but in a 
smaller town all this folly may come cheaper, and, 
at all events, there will be less competition. My wife 
will have but a small pension. I will not anticipate 
her future life. Mortals are short-sighted, and I 
might unconsciously bind her to a course of action 
which would prove not for the best. So what I say to 
you is to be considered merely as an expression of my 
wishes, and as an assistance to you in any difficulty. 
I have no intention of binding you to comply with it.” 

21* 


246 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


I nodded, as a sign that I understood him ; for my 
heart was too full to speak. 

''You will be a true friend to my sons and 
daughters, especially to my Bertha, whose path in 
this life promises to be a hard one, — perhaps the 
most so of my children ?’* 

"God will care for her, and I will too,” was all that 
I could say. 

" Dietrich will see now how foolish he was to give 
up his agricultural prospects. I hope, as it is not 
yet too late, he will perceive the necessity and resign. 
If not, it is his own affair; he can manage to get 
along in his profession, but he will then be unable to 
do anything for his brothers and sisters. Urge this 
upon him after my death. About George I have 
already written to the king, begging that he may be 
allowed to finish his education in the corps of cadets. 
To pay for it would draw heavily on my wife’s small 
means. The letter is in my desk ; I depend on your 
forwarding it.” 

He spoke these sentences without waiting for a 
r^ply. He knew that he could count on me to carry 
out this his last will and testament, written not on 
dead paper, but deeply imprinted on my heart, and I 
vowed, in secret, faithfully to acquit myself of the 
trust. 

" About Joachim I say nothing,” he continued ; 
" but there is something about the boy that makes 
me feel that he will fight his own way. Let him do 
so bravely. That strife injures far less than the idle- 
ness or cowardice which would shun the struggle. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


247 


Gertrude is a dutiful child, and is utterly unselfish, 
— two qualities worth far more than the fairy gift of 
beauty. The little ones,” — and his voice failed him, 
— “ God help them ! and the others, too !” 

‘‘ The little ones shall be my children,” I said, 
prompted by an irresistible impulse. I shall never 
forget his look of thanks ; his whole face seemed 
transfigured, but it was only for an instant ; then the 
sad, melancholy expression returned. 

‘‘I thank you,” he said, “but I take your words 
only as expressing your kindly feeling, and do not 
bind you to anything. I came to you because I 
need your help and feel how useful it will be to me; 
for you have just the qualities that are lacking in my 
wife, — practical common sense, a clear judgment not 
easily deceived, and self-discipline. The love which 
strives for mutual strengthening and improvement is 
far better than that which unreasoningly lifts every 
burden from the shoulders of the beloved, leaving 
them, when the parting hour has come, utterly with- 
out power of endurance and comfortless indeed. I 
now have told you all that weighs on me. Perhaps 
you are surprised at this urgent and sudden confi- 
dence ; ascribe its suddenness to your own sensible, 
penetrating character; and its urgency — ascribe it to 
1 othing, — only forgive me for it.” 

“ On the contrary, I thank you with all my heart.” 

“ I could have appealed to my sister-in-law,” he 
continued, with the frankness which the situation 
required ; “ but I was hindered partly by her new 
relations, but principally by her pecuniary circum- 


248 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


stances. She would have supposed these requests to 
have some bearing on them, and would no doubt do 
all that I asked, and more ; but that is not what I 
desire. I am a petitioner, — no beggar."' 

“ I understand you perfectly," I said, startled by 
the word and by the tone in which he said it. ‘‘ I 
promise to be a faithful friend to your wife and 
children, in the fullest sense of the word ; but no 
more and no less." 

He pressed my hand, raised it to his burning lips, 
and left the room ; and I, like a true woman, sat down 
and wept with all my heart. You know how earnestly 
I will strive to keep the promise I have made; and 
meantime I longed to give my poor friend one last 
joyful surprise. You are aware on what friendly terms 
I am with Dietrich, and how plainly he talks to me of 
his affairs. It was, consequently, not difficult for me 
to urge upon him, as if by accident, the prudence of 
resigning, even now, and returning to his former plans. 
I told him how much sooner he would be in an inde- 
pendent position and able to be of assistance to his 
family, and that it would take a weight from his 
father’s heart. 

“ If I could, I would be only too glad to do so ; 
but it is impossible," he answered. 

Because you don’t choose " 

Because I cannot.’’ 

“ And why ?’’ 

He hesitated, and then exclaimed, — 

“ Because of my debts ! I should be imprisoned 
immediately on my resignation ; my uniform is my 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


249 

sole protection. Well, what is done, is done ! There 
is no help for it.” 

‘'But your whole future hangs upon this. Every 
nerve should be strained to extricate you.” 

“ Not by you !” he exclaimed, grasping both my 
hands. “ I beg of you not to speak of such a thing. 
I will receive nothing from your hands ! The chains 
are on my feet, and I must bear them until some 
means of release present itself When my father 
recovers, I will talk over my affairs with him, and we 
will arrange them together. It is not easy for a 
lieutenant in difficulties to borrow so large a sum as 
I require. You would be frightened if I told you 
how large. My father would lend it to me, I would 
undertake the interest, and would resign and go to 
the country. That is the decision I have come to, 
and it is the best thing to do.” 

Poor fellow ! it will be long ere he is released from 
his chains, and they will ring a sad accompaniment 
to the funeral hymn. 


EIGHTEENTH LETTER. 


Life seems to me now more like a dreadful dream 
than a reality. The strange contrasts before my 
eyes make the sad circumstances all the sadder. 
Here, that dying life on which depends all the happi- 
ness as well as the worldly prosperity of a whole 
family; and there, that family, unconscious of the 
menacing cloud that hangs over them, basking in an 
artificial light of worldliness and folly. Here, the 
failing body of the Christian man from whose spirit 
all earthliness seems disappearing day by day, await- 
ing, with the calm of an already glorified spirit, the 
end of all his sufferings, only desiring to pass the 
la^^t days of his pilgrimage in peace and to depart 
without beholding the agony of his beloved ones ; 
there, those beloved ones, deceived by the courage 
of the invalid and full of delusive hopes, borne along 
on the rapid tide of fashion and dissipation, and ab- 
sorbed in the most trivial, the narrowest, interests. 
I see the waves sparkling and rippling around the 
paradise of guileless childhood, and I see them bear- 
ing the bark which newly-awakened energy and sense 
of duty are driving steadily onward ; but how soon 
will the waters become troubled ! how soon will the 
little boat lie stranded on the beach ! What long and 
bitter effort it will take ere it can be fairly launched 
( 250 ) 


IT IS THE FASHION. 2$ I 

again for the long, laborious voyage of life ! I cannot 
forget these things. They are ceaselessly before my 
mind. How discordantly chimes the tocsin of pleas- 
ure with the faintly-echoing passing bell ! My heart 
swells high with indignation, as I listen to the inhar- 
monious tones, till anger is lost in sorrow for those 
to whose ears they have become familiar sounds. 

Can you think of death in connection with carnival 
gayeties, and, remembering the President’s late con- 
versation with me, turn at once to the preparations for 
the long-talked-of French comedy, in which Frau von 
Loben’s and Bertha’s every thought is just now ab- 
sorbed ? Although the leave of absence has been 
received, the family cannot quit the town on account 
of this comedy. There are a thousand different 
things to be thought of, — everything except the most 
important of all. It would be impossible for Bertha 
to withdraw, lest she should cause inconvenience to 
some of those who have undertaken to get up the 
play, and, by causing a postponement, injure the ob- 
ject of the performance, besides the disappointment 
to her new friend, who cannot exist without Bertha, 
and who has given the young girl pleasures which 
her parents never could have procured for her. In 
short, it is the way of the world, — home regarded last 
and least of all, and the old-fashioned notions, which 
considered it the centre of enjoyment, totally abjured 
and forgotten. There stand the mother and children 
gazing on the rolling wheel of Fortune, while close 
beside them a heart is breaking, and fading eyes, 
from which the scales have fallen too late, are 


252 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


closing for ever and ever. It seems to me cruel 
kindness to leave the family in their error. They 
will reproach themselves bitterly, when all is over, for 
not having made better use of the father s last hours, 
for not having treasured them up as consolation and 
comfort for the long, lonely future. How must the 
President feel when he hears the solemn councils that 
are held over colors ^nd costume, and the impatient 
longings for the expected day ! I think it all must 
seem to his ears like the rushing wind, in which each 
one hears, according to his humor, words and sounds 
of different signification. 

Perhaps it is merely my anxiety, but it seems to me 
that the President is much more feeble, although he 
does not complain, and, it may be, does not think 
the end so near as it seems to me to be. He is even 
making plans for next winter; but the brown leaves 
of autumn will be a warm covering on his grave. 
Fall and spring, the death and the resurrection times 
of nature, usually bring the summons to sufferers of 
his description. I cannot help thinking of what Die- 
trich said to me, — that cessation from exertion would 
be his death-warrant, for then the disease would 
make unresisted headway. I fear it is true that, as 
the victim ceases to struggle, the enemy presses hard 
upon him, and he feels thoroughly, for the first time, 
his own weakness. 

I must tell you something so singular, — such a 
strange illusion of the senses: I saw on the street, 
not long since, either your old steward and major- 
domo, or else his ghost. I was driving; he was 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


253 


walking. I thought I would have known him 
among a thousand, — the same dignified, ruddy face, 
the same white hair, the same walk, the same ex- 
pression. I bent from the window and called to 
him, but my voice was drowned in the rolling of the 
wheels. I told the driver to turn and follow the man ; 
but, before I could make him understand, he was 
around the corner. I drove after him, but he had 
disappeared. The astonished face of the driver 
warned me to calm my excitement. Of course I 
know how fully your old steward is in your confi- 
dence ; but what business could he have here? and, 
besides, you certainly would have sent some message 
to me by him. But still I could not convince myself 
that it was not my old acquaintance, and was much 
excited over this little incident, and great home- 
sickness was the consequence. But I shall not see 
you till the fall. I did not intend to pass the summer 
in town, but now I have determined so to do. I 
have been led to this resolution partly by my own 
feelings, which make me unwilling to desert my 
friends at this juncture, and partly by a duty which I 
have undertaken. The Lobens have rented a country- 
seat about four miles from town ; this is too far for 
Gertrude to come in to school every day, and yet it 
seemed a pity that she should lose so much time. It 
was proposed that she should be sent to boarding- 
school until the holidays. The poor little thing’s 
eyes filled with tears, and she winked them very 
suspiciously, but bravely swallowed her sobs as her 
father said, — 


22 


254 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


shall miss you most of all, my child ; so you 
must make it as easy for me as you can.’* 

The child smiled an assent, though she evidently 
did not trust herself to speak. My decision was 
quickly taken. As I did not choose to go away, I 
would be glad to have a companion for my lone- 
liness. I begged that Gertrude might be confided 
to my care. It was no sacrifice ; but, had it been 
so, the delight of the child would have more than 
compensated me for it. She asked a thousand ques- 
tions. Would she really stay with me? Would she 
sleep in my room? To everything I answered, 
** Yes.” I have taken a weight from the President’s 
mind, and his gratitude is touching. They leave 
next week. What a pleasant time I will have with 
my little guest! Joachim also is to take his meals 
with me; and Dietrich, — you know what good 
friends he and I are. My family has suddenly 
grown quite large, has it not ? I shall feel lonely 
when I part with my little protegee, A solitary life 
does not suit me. I am not fitted for it. 


NINETEENTH LETTER. 


The catastrophe is rapidly approaching; the thun- 
der-cloud is close at hand, and soon it will wrap in 
gloom those now absorbed in selfish pleasure. The 
President has for the last few days been in a state of 
feverish restlessness. He miist go ; the city air is 
stifling him, he says. He even went so far as to de- 
clare that there was an oppression on his heart which 
only country air could relieve. 

“ Don’t be a fool, man !” said old Frau von Schonau. 

Why do you wait for this ridiculous play ? Let 
Bertha stay with me, if her heart is so set on it; and 
I will bring her to you when the absurd affair is 
over.” 

The President silenced her with a look. 

‘‘ My old asthma, that is all,” he said to his wife, 
with a smile; “but it does oppress me greatly, and 
the fresh air will perhaps relieve me.” 

“ Have patience for only two days longer,” said 
his wife, coaxingly. “ Day after to-morrow is the 
representation, and it would be impossible for me 
to go through the trouble of moving before that is 
over.” 

He yielded, with a little sigh. 

Bertha has just left me. With white cheeks she 
asked “ if her father were really dangerously ill.” 

(2SS) 


2s6 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


Why do you ask, dear child ?” I said. 

I don't know,” she said ; ‘‘ but I think we must 
all be blind or crazy, or else we deceive each other 
and ourselves. Mother seems not in the least uneasy, 
and my brothers do not choose, probably, to speak 
of it ; or perhaps it is because we are so accustomed 
to seeing my father that we do not appreciate how 
ill he is. As for myself, I have been thinking of 
nothing but the comedy; Heaven forgive me! But 
Aunt Schonau just now said to me, 'Staying here 
for this silly comedy is a theft from your father’s life.’ 
I was very angry at first ; for I thought, ' Here is 
another person who grudges me a little pleasure!’ 
But she said, ' Look at your father once with your 
heart, and not with your blinded eyes,’ ” — here Bertha 
crimsoned painfully, — " ' and then be as much vexed 
with me as you choose; but do not make a scene, or 
you will prepare for yourself a bitterer draught of 
remorseful recollections than even your selfishness 
about the comedy will one day give you.’ ” 

So the old lady could hold her peace no longer! 
I know that for a long time she has been prepared 
for the worst ; and she has been urgent with me to 
speak to the children on the subject. The sons I 
felt sure knew the truth, — partly, at all events, — and 
as for Bertha, I did not venture to undeceive her, fear- 
ing lest I should call up stormy spirits in attempting 
to do so, and doubting my power to exorcise them, 
should such prove to be the case. Besides, I remem- 
bered the President’s express wishes not to be tor- 
tured by a sight of the agony of grief that would 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


257 

inevitably follow a right knowledge of his condition. 
Bertha continued, — 

‘‘ So I went to my father’s room. He had fallen 
asleep in his arm-chair. There was no light; but the 
moonbeams fell on his face, and he looked so terribly 
pale that I thought he was dead already.” 

The girl was in such extreme excitement that it 
infected me, and I thought for the moment that she 
was the bearer of the fatal news. 

“ He opened his eyes and smiled when I came 
nearer,” she continued. Don’t you remember how 
unstrung and irritable he was not long ago, and how 
my mother complained of the change in his char- 
acter? Now he is always smiling, — and such a 
heavenly smile! He is desperately ill, is he not?” 
she added. 

I did my best to console her. 

If your father be so ill,” I said, the sight of your 
grief would only make him worse. You know that 
his whole life has been devoted to making his family 
happy, and it is likely that he conceals his sufferings 
so as to spare them pain. The nearer to the grave 
you think him, the more earnestly you should strive 
to remember all this.” 

‘‘ Impossible 1” she groaned, wringing her hands. 

How can I seem happy ?” 

Not happy, perhaps, but certainly composed; and, 
besides, he is very ill, it is true, but does it follow 
that there is no Rope ?” 

‘‘Yes,” she said, with great decision. “Now I 
see it all 1 Since his visit to that doctor he has been 
22 * 


258 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


SO — she was interrupted here by her sobs — ** so an- 
gelic, so transfigured ! He knows that he must die, 
though he conceals it from us.” 

“ Trust in God !” I said. Control yourself for 
/lis sake, and do not distress your mother.” 

'' My poor mother !” she sighed. 

Besides,” I continued, “the country may improve 
him ; fresh air and rest often work wonders.” 

“ And this last hope is being delayed through my 
means !” she cried. “ I cannot, I will not act ; I will 
go at once to Wanda and tell her so.” 

I detained her almost by force, and told her to re- 
member the surprise her withdrawal would cause her 
father, and how difficult it would be to explain it to 
him without his perceiving her real reasons. 

“Your sudden recognition of the situation really 
does exaggerate its hopelessness. Even in threaten- 
ing illnesses the patient is not always in momentary 
danger. You are now thinking only of your personal 
feelings, which naturally revolt against this projected 
pleasure ; but if you look upon it as an obligation 
you may see it your duty to act from regard to others. 
I, of course, do not advise your remaining an instant 
after the play. Perhaps you will now do for the sake 
of the worthy object, that which you undertook as a 
mere pleasure; it becomes a duty when it is done, in 
opposition to your own wishes, to spare your friends 
inconvenience and your family uneasiness. We will 
try to persuade your mother to move to-morrow, and 
thus you will be relieved of the responsibility of de- 
taining your father even a day longer.” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


259 


She shook her head. 

“I cannot act/* she said, ‘‘that is certain. But 1 
will not inconvenience or distress any one ; I will go 
at once to Wanda. She is not to play in the same 
piece, and knows my part perfectly, for she taught it 
to me, so she can take it ; and if we persuade mamma 
to leave to-morrow, they need not know of my not 
acting. I will go to Wanda; do you go to my mother. 
If Heaven will only help me out of this comedy, I 
will never amuse myself again as long as I live ! 
My poor, poor father !’* 

She fell weeping into my arms. 

“ Courage !’* I said. “ Compose yourself. He 
must know nothing of your anxiety. Control your- 
self for his sake.** 

She promised everything, and hurried away. I 
went to Frau von Loben. The good woman seems 
utterly unable to guess or anticipate any wish of her 
suffering husband. As soon as she understands that 
he has a desire which he will not express out of re- 
gard to her wishes, she never thinks for an instant of 
insisting on having her own way. She has only the 
thoughtless egotism of a spoiled child, not a cold, 
calculating, selfish nature. It was not at all difficult, 
without awaking any special uneasiness, to persuade 
her that she would gratify her husband deeply by 
hastening her departure. 

“ If I were only certain about it. I must ask him.** 

“ He will say no, so as to spare you trouble ; be- 
sides, it is much pleasanter to have one*s wishes fore- 
stalled than to be obliged always to express them.** 


26 o 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


*■ That is true. But Bertha ? ” 

‘‘ She can stay with me, and I will bring her out to 
you after the comedy.’' 

‘‘ Charming ! But the packing up ?” 

Caroline and I will both help you. Just go and 
ask your husband how he would like to start to- 
morrow morning.” 

She went, and returned at once. 

He is delighted; he was anxious to do so,” said 
she. ‘‘How strange that he said nothing about it! 
How could I guess he wanted to go?” 

While we were in the depths of packing, Bertha 
returned, quite heated. 

“We have had such a quarrel,” she whispered to 
me. “ But it is all right ; she is going to take my 
role. She wouldn’t have done it if it had not been 
for the becoming costume.” 

She spoke so bitterly that I looked up in surprise. 

“She says so herself; she is as full of fun and as 
gay as ever, and wanted to laugh away my fears.” 

“ Bertha,” I said, “ all the world is not alike.” 

“She wanted to insist on my playing; but, if it be 
frivolous to overlook a fatal danger, it is criminal to 
jest at it,” she continued. 

She was much excited. Her enthusiasm for her 
friend has received its first check. She had gone to 
her for help, and had not found the sympathy which 
had been always ready when the two young heads 
built rosy castles in the air together. Her heart 
was full of distress, and Wanda had shown barely 
even superficial sympathy. To be a friend in sorrow 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


261 

as in joy, that is the secret of true affection. Other- 
wise it is but a feeble band, which the first strain will 
part, the first tears dissolve. I could not speak fur- 
ther with Bertha at that moment. I begged her 
assistance in packing, and kept her busy for some 
time. That did her good. Everything is ready, and 
the carriage is ordered for twelve o’clock to-morrow. 

I have employed the twilight hour in writing to 
you, and must now return to the Lobens. Dietrich 
and Joachim have come. I hear their footsteps. I 
know this sudden decision will delight them. To- 
morrow I will close my letter. 

How short a time since last night ! How much 

shorter the one moment that brought sorrow and 
dismay to so many hearts ! The President is dead. 
In the midst of his family, just as his wife was in- 
dulging in the most brilliant anticipations of their 
trip to the country, and of the great benefit her 
husband would derive from it, the death-angel came 
from the unknown land, and, after a short struggle, 
bore away his victim. While Frau von Loben was 
still speaking, he sprang to his feet suddenly. 

“ Too late !” 

The words burst from his half-choked breast, and 
a dark stream of blood followed ; in a few moments 
he was dead. Ah, that long restlessness ! that thirst 
for fresh air ! The effect of his death is indescribable. 
Eveuy shade of agony, — the mad outbreak of tempo- 
rarily shaken reason, tears, moans, silent resignation, 
— all held watch by the quiet couch that night. The 
young men are models. Bertha seems completely 


262 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


stunned. Gertrude weeps quietly. The little ones, 
who, I am thankful to say, were not present at the 
frightful scene, are more frightened and troubled by 
the sorrow all around them than by its cause, which 
they scarcely understand. I keep them as much out 
of the way as possible. As for Frau von Loben, I 
can only pray that Heaven will pardon her distracted 
words and help and forgive the poor, weak, broken 
heart. She is sleeping now, half from an anodyne, 
half from physical and mental exhaustion. I take 
this moment to finish my letter ; I will write again 
ere long. 


TWENTIETH LETTER. 


Dreadful days are these, — long and dreadful. 
Frau von Loben’s agony amounts to absolute blas- 
phemy. She accuses God and man, and asks, over 
and over, ‘‘Why should this blow have fallen upon 

— upon me T' The saddest question that an aching 
heart can ask. If she only could decide to look once 
more upon that quiet face, she would gain what she 
needs ; but she shudders at the thought, and trembles 
like a child at the mere suggestion. Her whole mind 
seems in confusion ; at one moment she is full of 
wild lamentations, then of despairing dread of life, 
as she reckons up its most trifling cares. Every 
effort at self-control is rejected as an impossibility ; 
all attempts at comfort are in vain ; the touching 
affection of her children, my arguments, and Aunt 
Schonau’s advice and encouragement, are all of no 
avail. 

The old lady is a pattern. If I did not love her 
already, she would now win my whole heart by 
her sound, hearty sympathy, her patience, and the 
true consolation she offers, drawn from the inex- 
haustible source of sincere religion. But nothing has 
any effect upon the poor, afflicted woman. Dietrich 
has undertaken all the business matters, and we talk 
over plans and prospects together; but she only 

(263) 


264 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


listens to us with a half-comprehending gaze, and 
shakes her head at every proposition. 

Alas, that such afflictions should awake other than 
the better feelings of human nature, sympathy and 
kindly consideration! They call up, also, many ego- 
tistical traits, which strike heavily on the hearts of the 
bereaved. I could not but think of this when looking 
at the shower of large and small accounts that had 
poured in upon the family with indecent haste, show- 
ing that their senders remembered not only the in- 
debtedness, but also that a change of fortune is apt 
to follow the decease of the head of a family. Most 
of these debts had been incurred by Frau von Loben, 
generally for goods purchased some time since, and 
only increased her distress of mind. In vain has 
Dietrich taken care that no more such documents 
reach her eyes ; her anxiety is not mitigated. As 
long as her husband lived, she never troubled herself 
about outstanding accounts. If a bill was presented, 
and she had the money, she paid it ; if not, the Presi- 
dent did so at the end of the year. In proportion to 
her former disregard of unpaid bills is now her terror 
of them, so much does her racked, confused mind 
exaggerate their possible consequences. She sees 
herself in a debtor’s prison, or reduced to beggary. 
I have never beheld such a morbid dread of poverty ; 
and even retrenchment seems such to her. I feel the 
deepest pity for her, none the less for being compelled 
to repress every sign of impatience with this want of 
reason and self-control. The good President did her 
an irreparable injury when he, as he himself said, 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


265 


“carried her over the rough places in his arms;” foi 
now her feet totter and tremble, and she fancies 
abysses on every hand. The President’s papers are 
in perfect order, and there is sufficient money on 
hand to pay the funeral expenses and the most press- 
ing claims. If a smaller residence be taken, and the 
superfluous furniture sold, there will be enough for 
her to get along for a time, and it is probable that the 
king will allow her a pension in addition to the usual 
one. In vain does Dietrich, with touching patience, 
repeat all this to her again and again. She only 
wrings her hands, and will not be convinced that she 
^nd her family are not reduced to actual beggary. 
I really fear for her reason, if this continue. What 
avail is all that confidence in the “ good Father,” with 
which, in her happy days, she referred to his loving 
care and omniscience the most trivial matters, if she 
now, in her dark hour, doubt his justice, goodness, 
aid, and protection? To-day she asked Dietrich, with 
the greatest bitterness, if she could not petition the 
king to do something for her children, as she had no 
means of bringing them up according to their station, 
and could not Arthur learn some trade ? If she wrote 
to him herself, he never could be cruel enough to 
refuse her. 

“ Mother,” answered Dietrich, gently, “ the little 
ones, thank Heaven, are not orphans ; they still 
have ” 

“ It would be better for them if they had not me,” 
she interrupted, gloomily. “ I am nothing, without 
their father. I cannot think or act alone, and will 

M 23 


266 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


only be a burden upon you ; you will curse me. If 
it were not for me 

In this circle all her ideas run. It is a difficult 
task always to oppose to these outbursts of unreason- 
ing suffering the same calm, unchanging patience. 
The two little children I keep away as much as pos- 
sible. Gertrude, who, of course, is not now going to 
school, takes care of them. Bertha keeps entirely to 
herself I see after the household affairs. Number- 
less visits of condolence are paid, — a shocking cus- 
tom, that seems to make a house of mourning public 
property; for such visits are made just as often out 
of curiosity or etiquette as from sympathy and kindly 
feeling. Frau von Schonau is here almost all the 
time, but I see and hear nothing of Countess Wanda. 
I suppose she is busy with the French comedy, as 
she has Bertha’s role to fill, as well as her own. 
Now I have given you some idea of my position, 
and that of the bereaved family. 


TWENTY-FIRST LETTER. 


We have had a sad day. The earth lies over the 
dead. An almost endless train of friends and rela- 
tions followed him to the grave. The cadet came 
home for the funeral. Sorrow has made him forget 
all his affectations. He is only a weeping, sobbing 
child. The interment was in the morning, and in 
the afternoon we all went to the churchyard to cover 
the new-made grave with flowers. From that time 
dates a change in Frau von Loben’s state of mind. 
The loud sorrow, the lamentations, — I had almost 
said the blasphemies, — are hushed. She is calm, 
and always appears sunk in deep thought. We 
remained together all the evening; and, when we 
parted, Dietrich and Joachim accompanied me to 
my rooms. 

“ We want to talk over our plans with you,'' said 
Dietrich, “ for of course we cannot remain as we are. 
We must both choose some other career." 

And now they explained to me their intentions. 
Dietrich, who cannot leave the army on account of 
his debts without being involved in numberless em- 
barrassments, is going to request to be transferred to 
the Infantry, resigning to Joachim the three hundred 
thalers already spoken of, and he, after his examina- 
tion, will enter upon agricultural pursuits in the place 

(267) 


268 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


of his elder brother. The tears started to my eyes 
as Dietrich spoke. 

“ You poor children !’' I could not help exclaiming. 
“Can nothing else be done?” I saw how it hurt 
Joachim to resign the prospect of the gay student 
days, and his pet dream, — a diplomatic career; but 
he swallowed his tears bravely, and said, — 

“ We can’t ride our hobbies any longer, but I shall 
trot along through the world well enough on my 
plough-horse. Dietrich has resigned the three hun- 
dred thalers a year to me, and that will be another 
reason for me to struggle on as fast as possible, for 
the poor fellow can ill do without them.” 

Dietrich sprang to his feet and walked quickly up 
and down the room. 

“This is all my fault,” he sighed. “ If I were not in 
debt, everything could be arranged so much better. 
I would resign and turn farmer. I know enough 
already to fill the place of under-inspector. I could 
get along on the smallest possible salary, and then 
Joachim could study on my allowance. We could 
easily arrange it all ; but now I have fettered myself, 
and the penalty of my guilt falls upon us both.” 

“ And what is to be done about your debts, even 
as it is ?” I asked. 

“ I shall be compelled to seek some accommoda- 
tion with my creditors, and then try to pay them by 
monthly installments.” 

“ But,” I exclaimed, in surprise, “ I thought an 
officer could not get along without money ! How, 
then, will you manage to pay these debts ?” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


269 


In the Infantry, in the smaller garrison, I shall 
be able to manage ; and if I can get along till Joachim 
has finished his education and can earn something 
for himself, then he will help me. We will have to 
bear each other’s burdens for some time to come.” 

“ Poor children !” I thought to myself, how sud- 
denly are your bright gay wings clipped ! Perhaps 
it is for the best. We are not made to fly, and even 
walking is often a hard, hard task.” 

‘‘ Heaven help you, and grant that you may re- 
main true to your resolutions!” I said aloud. 

“ We promised each other, over our father’s death- 
bed, that we would be brave and honorable men,” 
said Joachim. 

Amen !” I added, and I trust in my young friends 
and believe that they will keep their promise. It 
costs a hard struggle when deeds have to take the 
place of dreams, hopes, and wishes. But life was not 
given us to waste in such, and in deeds should we 
use, and show ourselves grateful for, God’s gift of 
time. The President was painfully deficient in energy, 
and now at his grave the two sons undertake to 
supply the deficiency. A bitterly-taught lesson they 
have had. But never would they have grasped the 
standard, and pressed forward, knighted by their own 
hands, had not death consecrated them for battle 
and, I hope, for victory. 

I am writing by Frau von Loben's bedside, where 
I have been watching her slumbers. We have a 
thousand daily examples of God’s goodness and wis- 
dom, and deny and disbelieve them a thousand times ; 

23* 


2/0 


JT IS THE FASH/OH, 


but the tender message of his compassion brought to 
us by the gentle sleep-angel falls soothingly on every 
aching heart. Life is such a long, rugged, wearisome 
road, — what a blessing to be borne forward a little 
way unconsciously to ourselves ! The deep darkness 
in which slumber wraps us is the brightest side of 
many a human life. I have sat by many sick-beds, 
but never with so heavy a heart as by this one, for 
here the soul as well as the body is ailing ; to both 
beneficent slumber has brought a temporary respite. 
May it also bring strength to bear that which cannot 
be forgotten ! 


TWENTY-SECOND LETTER. 


The short calm is over; it was only a lull in the 
storm. Now the waves are swelling high once more, 
the clouds are piled in heavy masses, and renewed 
shipwreck threatens the unseaworthy vessel we have 
striven so hard to save. Frau von Loben’s quiet was 
only exhaustion, not resignation. Now the old pas- 
sionate grief has returned with double egotism, and 
makes her forget everything save her own sorrow 
and her own suffering. I am anxious and distressed 
about her, for there seems no place to cast anchor in 
the storm-shaken nature. She goes from one parox- 
ysm into another, and yields herself up completely to 
the wildest despair. One moment it is utter reckless- 
ness, then weakness, then shrieks and cries for her 
husband, or moans for the lack of daily bread. I 
think that the depth of feelings should not always be 
judged by the violence with which they are expressed, 
for the soul grows strong in silence. 

How is the weak body to bear the strain of thus 
dashing itself against the barriers of reason and neces- 
sity? Such violence is almost suicidal; for, although 
it may not kill the body, it destroys its likeness to the 
Creator, changing it from an object of beauty to one 
of terror; and when will her children lose the im- 
pression of these dreadful scenes ? I never let the 

( 271 ) 


272 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


little ones see their mother, and even Gertrude only 
in her quieter moments. The sight of her children 
seems to bring no comfort. They all appear to her 
thrust from their natural station in life and condemned 
to penury and obscurity. We dare not leave her 
alone for a moment. Dietrich and Joachim are with 
us just as much as possible, and they, Bertha, Frau 
von Schonau, and myself take by turns the sad duty 
of watcher, which keeps at least one of us always by 
her side. Caroline, my greatest assistant in the house- 
hold affairs, also managed to gain admission to the sick- 
chamber ; and, as she knows how to hide real respect 
under apparent freedom of manner, she succeeded 
in scattering some dewdrops of refreshment on this 
parched and thirsty soul. I heard her say something 
to Bertha not long since for which I really felt like 
kissing her. Bertha’s grief sometimes finds vent in ill 
humor, — the most pitiful, unconsoling, and unfortunate 
vent that it can find. In one of these attacks she was 
most unjust to Caroline, and I heard the latter answer, — 
'' I cannot help it if you speak so to me. I am 
none the worse for it, and you are none the better. I 
am old, and you are young, but you are not exactly 
my mistress, so that I ought to hold my tongue ; but 
Fraulein Hildegard always lets me talk, so I want to 
tell you something. Abuse me as much as you 
choose when you feel bad and you can’t help yourself; 
but don’t do it to other people. It is much worse to 
be ill-tempered than to be sad. Everybody’s heart 
is open to sorrowful people, but shut up against ill- 
humored ones. No offense, Fraulein Bertha.” 


IT IS THE FASHIOA\ 


273 


I stepped quietly away, without awaiting the reply. 
Poor Bertha has many hard struggles before her. 
Wanda has deserted her in her need. Her sunny 
nature is not suited for the shadows cast by affliction. 
She has written two or three times to Bertha, who 
quietly handed me the notes. They were as sweet 
and as loving as possible ; every third line was my 
darling,” and begged that she would forgive her for 
not coming herself, but she was so foolish, and afraid 
to come where a dead person had been, because she 
had a terror of ghosts ; and, besides, she was so 
soft-hearted that it hurt her to see pain, but she loved 
her Bertha more than tongue could tell, and she must 
love her^ and be happy for her sake. Then something 
about an anticipated trip to Paris together, as, of 
course, the President’s death nullified his former ob- 
jections, reminiscences of past enjoyment, prospects 
for the coming winter, but not the slightest compre- 
hension of what comfort to offer a seared and bleeding 
heart. What a pity that the charming little creature 
has no more character ! She seems to me a personi- 
fication of the joys of this world. Dazzled senses, 
fleeting splendors, giddy enjoyment, — these she has 
to offer; but those who sink into her arms will feel 
no heart beating against theirs. Bertha has not 
answered any of the letters. I understand perfectly 
the feelings that restrain her from so doing. To give 
a heart to those who cannot value or comprehend it 
is to throw it under their feet ; and who that under- 
stands this clearly would dare thus to trifle with God’s 
precious gift ? It is a hard lesson, but I expect that it 

M* 


274 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


will yield good fruit. Such times of trial show who 
really are our friends ; then they rise from the crowd 
of mere acquaintances, which are like the sand on 
the sea-shore in multitude. Even good will goes very 
far, and the satisfaction of knowing the true from the 
untrue is not too dearly bought with many sad dis- 
appointments. 


TWENTY-THIRD LETTER. 


My forebodings were just. Frau von Loben is very 
ill^ and is raging in the delirium of brain-fever. It is 
only a continuation and exaggeration of her former 
paroxysms, and displays her broken spirit in the most 
distressing manner. She suffers terribly ; and so do 
we. Only one ray of light gilds the gloom ; but that, 
I hope, is the harbinger of a brighter dawn. Dietrich 
is now able to resign, and to undertake the calling to 
which he formerly thought of devoting himself, and 
which seems to offer him a happier future and the 
possibility of independence, and to Joachim the pros- 
pect of continuing his studies. Dietrich is like a 
released captive, and his joy is tempered and re- 
strained only by anxiety about his mother. 

Let me tell you how it was. A well-known bankei 
here, who was a friend of the President’s mother,, 
came to the young man and offered to assist him if 
he had been placed in any pecuniary embarrassments 
by his father’s death. He spoke in a jesting, good- 
humored way of the extravagance of young officers, 
and the impossibility of conforming expenses to in- 
comes without a radical change in modern life and 
customs, and then suggested that possibly this incom- 
patibility might be found in the affairs of the young 
man before him. He touched lightly on Dietrich’s 

(27s ) 


276 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


good character, with considerable penetration drew 
the distinction between youthful extravagance and 
want of conscience, avowed himself a friend of youth, 
— above all, of young officers, — spoke of his connec- 
tion with Dietrich’s father and grandmother, and finally 
repeated his offer to assist him by word and deed. 
Dietrich, although astonished beyond measure, could 
not resist the kindly urgency of his unexpected bene- 
factor. He told him his whole position ; the banker 
promised to arrange matters for him, and to lend him 
the sum at the usual rate of interest. All this was 
done in the kindest and most delicate way, so that it 
was impossible to refuse or to be hurt. With all due 
respect to the kind-hearted banker, this assistance is 
perfectly providential, and is too thoroughly different 
from the usual ways of business-men not to make us 
suspect some other motive-power than mere friend- 
ship for the relations of his protege. Dietrich thinks 
it must have been the kindness of his comrades, and 
recalls several similar instances of friendly fidelity 
and esprit de corps ; and this makes him even sadder 
at the prospect of parting from his beloved comrades. 
But I, without doubting the fidelity, et cetera, think 
I see another hand behind the scenes, and, so think- 
ing, venture to kiss it, in spirit, with hearty gratitude 
and affection. 


TWENTY-FOURTH LETTER. 


The patient is no better. She has not a lucid mo- 
ment. The doctor says, Pray that she may die ; 
for no human brain can bear such a fearful strain.'* 
The strange contrasts in life! With Aunt Ludo- 
vika's letter of condolence for the death of her 
brother-in-law came the notice of her marriage. 
Madness and death are wrestling for the possession 
of this struggling soul, while the two guileless little 
children, to whom grief is only as a morning cloud, 
are changing into a harmless play the saddest scene 
in life, imitating, in their innocent way, a scene beheld 
by them lately for the first time, — a funeral ! 


TWENTY-FIFTH LETTER. 


After my last letter, you will not be surprised to 
hear of Frau von Loben’s death. After a week of 
despair, and a week of delirium, she is released at 
last. Even her dying words presented the most 
extraordinary inconsistency. With a cry of satisfied 
yearning, she extended her arms to her husband, 
whom she saw in the messenger-angel ; but a wan- 
dering thought strayed back to earth, and to the 
weeping Bertha she murmured, — 

Poor Bertha ! Double mourning ! All black ! 
Patience, — next winter ! Ah, who will introduce you 
into society now ? Not I, poor child !’* 

I believe these words have torn away the last glit- 
tering veil from the tinsel images, the attainment of 
which the heart-broken girl once regarded as the 
goal of youthful effort and the height of youthful 
happiness. 


(278) 


LAST LETTER. 


A SECOND grave rises beside the first, on which are 
still lying the faded flowers, the last offering of the 
dead to the dead. The grass-blades are springing on 
the twin hillocks ; soon they will be green, and fresh 
life will spring from the lives that have sunk to rest. 
So do germs of hope sprout from the buried happi- 
ness of the sorrowing ones. Sorrowing are they 
still; but consolation has begun to dawn, and trust- 
ful childish eyes look up to me through their tears, 
and lighten all my future. My dear, kind friend, 
you know with what false ideas of selfish pleasure 
and freedom from care I left you, — you know it all. 
What I sought, I found not; such enjoyment is not 
what it is dreamed to be, and, even if vouchsafed to 
us, would prove far from a blessing; but what I 
needed I have found; and, though it has come to 
me through sadness, tears, and the graves of two 
friends, I take thankfully the gift that once more 
makes my life a life of duty. It seems to me a com- 
mand from Heaven. Almost unconsciously I forged 
anew my broken fetters, and now I have chained 
them around me forever. It was all decided last 
evening . 

The orphans and myself, returning from the church- 
yard, found Aunt Schonau awaiting us. 

( 279) 


28 o 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


“ What is to be done now, children ?’' she said. 
“ You have neither father nor mother, and your bro- 
ther is a very young guardian, even if the court 
admit him as such ; you three boys are provided for,'* 
(the President’s letter regarding George met with a 
favorable response) ; '' but the others, — what can be 
done with them ? We must talk it over together, 
and, if I can be of any use, here I am.” 

Dietrich, with difficulty commanding himself, an- 
swered, — 

“ Aunt Ludovika has written to me. She is very 
sympathizing, and is much shocked that our position 
is not so affluent as she supposed ; she regrets that 
her new ties render any efficient help impossible. 
But her husband has authorized her to take one of 
the children and educate it as her own.” 

Well, then, why doesn’t Bertha ” said the 

excitable old lady. 

“ She requests, therefore, that she may have Ger- 
trude, or else Clarchen,” said Dietrich, with an affec- 
tionate glance at his eldest sister. 

‘‘ The smaller the children, the smaller the care,” 
said Frau von Schonau. 

Clarchen and Arthur are mine,” I said, trembling 
lest the little couple should be divided. “ They are 
mine. I promised your father not to part with them.” 

The children were playing around the room, utterly 
unconscious of what was going on. Dietrich came 
to my side, took both my hands and pressed them 
to his heart and to his lips, incapable of bringing out 
a word. Just then my eyes met little Gertrude’s 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


281 


pleading ones, full of the beseeching question, Will 
you let me go?’* and my resolution was quickly taken. 

“ Fraulein Bricks will get Gertrude a free scholar- 
ship in her old academy ; they educate young girls for 
governesses there,” said Frau von Schonau ; “but I 
think that would do better for Bertha. She has more 
head for learning. Gertrude is a little home-body. 
If she chooses, she can come with me. I have not 
much ; but it is enough for two, and she will do me 
the trifling kindnesses I require.” 

“ They are actually quarreling over said Ber- 
tha; but, repenting the bitter speech, she went to the 
child and kissed her passionately. 

“ Gertrude a governess ?” I said. “ After awhile, 
perhaps ; but just now she must help me with the little 
ones. Will you, Gertrude? will you come to me?” 

She threw herself into my arms, and clung to me 
as though she feared lest she should be forced away. 

“She has decided,” said the old lady. “No one 
has a word to say ; but I am sorry. I wanted the 
little monkey. But it is best so. Every well-wisher 
of the children will be glad to see them in your hands. 
I will speak to Fraulein Bricks about Bertha; or, 
Bertha, dear, will you come to me ?” she added, 
kindly. “ I’m afraid you’re too elegant for my back- 
stairs, and too proud for the services I should ask of 
you. It is true that no one is too good for a simple 
life,— and a simple one may be a very happy one, — 
but I hoped greater things for you, Bertha, and only 
offer myself as a last resource, but in all good will 
and affection.” 

24* 


282 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


^'No, no! I wish to be a burden to no one!'’ said 
she, struggling between grief and anger. ‘‘Send me 
to the governess-manufactory. It makes little differ- 
ence how one gets through with life!” 

Suddenly I saw, and for the first time fully, how 
hard a task it would be to guide and direct such a 
character; but, just as quickly, I felt that it was a 
duty to undertake it. 

“ Bertha,” I said, putting both arms around her, 
“we will try together to conquer the bitter, and to find 
the sweet that is to be found in every life. You four 
ought not to be parted; and I will do my best to 
prevent it.” 

I cannot describe the scene that followed: the 
children, large and small, hung upon me, embracing 
me, and covering me with kisses; their tears fell 
upon my face and hands, and the universal emotion 
ended in a gentle, happy laugh, the first for many a 
day, as Frau von Schonau said, in her blunt way, — 

“Why, you’re a perfect ogress for children; you 
keep all the nice ones for yourself, and won’t let any 
one have even a bite. Well, I at least shall come 
and look on, and perhaps I may be allowed to add 
a few spices or something of the sort. 

“ George,” she continued, turning to the cadet, “ I 
shall see to your pocket-money; and you big boys, 
— especially you, Joachim the scapegrace, — never, 
when you are in need, forget No. lo Kockstrasse, 
left-hand side. Do you hear? Your hand upon it!” 

Joachim gave his hand, and a kiss, too, and even 
made a jesting reply. 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


283 


Truly the clouds are rising, and the dawn is red- 
dening in the sky. I suddenly have a family that 
promises plenty of care and plenty of pleasure ; and 
even should I have the first and not the second, 
what difference does it make? Selfish cares are just 
as heavy ; and eagerly-sought and egotistical enjoy- 
ment is the mere shadow of the joy we awake in 
others and which is reflected back to us. Man alone 
is nothing ; only in association and co-operation with 
others is his strength. 

I have had a long talk with Bertha. I told her I 
would take the responsibility of developing her char- 
acter, and would promise to devote all my powers 
and all my energy to it. I told her that education 
was never finished, but that hers had not even arrived 
at that stage when one’s own experience, in conjunc- 
tion with observation and reflection, would suffice to 
carry it on ; that she must think the matter over, 
and decide whether she would be willing to place 
full confidence in me, and, above all, to give me her 
heart, for it is only a loving heart that can make good 
use of instructions. 

“ Be kind, and be firm, Hildegard,” she answered, 
weeping ; ‘‘ I will thank you for both sincerely.” 

I trust her promise, and proceed, with good cour- 
age, to my self-imposed task. I have seen Bertha in 
many different humors, and in some very unamiable 
ones; but I must do her the justice to say that she 
never attempted to seem other than she really was, 
but talked and acted just as crossly or as affection- 
ately as she felt ; and this truth of nature is my greatest 


284 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


hope. Only to true natures can we hold up a glass 
to delight or to shock them with their own faces. 
The false ones put on a pretty expression for the 
benefit of outsiders, and leave us in permanent doubt 
as to what they are really like. 

I have held a council with my ‘‘ major-domo"' Car- 
oline over our future housekeeping arrangements. 
She is delighted at my decision to keep the children. 
I know of a nice little house that I can get in the fall. 
Joachim will leave, then, for the university. Gertrude 
will continue to attend school. The little ones I will 
teach, and Bertha will try to study usefulness in the 
household, as well as book-learning. We will live 
in the good old-fashioned style. Luxury we could 
not have, even if we wished it. And though we will 
not spin the linen ourselves, we will cut it out and 
make it up ; and in our little home true housewifely 
pride shall dazzle the guest with spotless neatness. 
Yes, the guest; for although I am an enemy of dis- 
sipation and frivolous gayety, yet my door shall 
never be closed against my friends. But all that will 
arrange itself; and just according as we tune the 
young mind now will the song of after-years be true 
or false. Heaven grant that it be a cheerful one, 
ringing forth from sound, strong hearts! One word, 
however, I shall strike out of my dictionary, — that is 
‘‘fashion,’" — and place in its stead good sense and 
modesty. Two others, now too often parted, shall 
be restored to their old connection, — duty and 
pleasure; and thus 


CONCLUSION. 


‘^Fraulein Hildegard cried Caroline, throwing 
open the door. Hildegard turned her head, dropped 
her pen, and, with a joyful cry, hastened to greet the 
new-comer. 

“ My dear, dear Count !” she cried ; and, seizing his 
hand, she was about to raise it to her lips, when he 
bent down and warmly and affectionately kissed her 
forehead. ‘‘ Am I dreaming ? What brought you 
here ?” she exclaimed. 

“ I will tell you that presently,'' he said. ** But, 
first, how are you, and how are the poor children ? 
You never called on me for assistance, Hildegard. 
That was not kind of you." 

“You gave me your help without my asking for 
it," she said, gratefully. 

“ We won’t talk about that," he said. Caroline, 
meantime, had moved up the arm-chair and placed 
soft cushions for his foot. He sat down, but pushed 
the cushions laughingly aside. 

“ Thank you," he said ; “ but I am an invalid only 
in winter." 

How handsome he looked, — the noble old man, 
with his dignified bearing, and his own cheerful 
nature beaming forth from his bright, dark eyes! 

(285) 


286 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


From the bronzed cheek all its former paleness had 
disappeared. 

‘‘You have grown younger!” cried Hildegard. 

“You too; in spite of all you have been through, 
you look well and happy,” he answered. 

“ I have been born to a new life,” she said, signifi- 
cantly. 

A strange expression flitted across his face, as if 
he were about to apply the speech to himself also. 

Hildegard took his hand. 

“ I have kissed it a thousand times in spirit,” she 
said, raising it so suddenly to her lips that he could 
not prevent her, “and now you must let me do so in 
reality. As I guessed the name of the unknown 
benefactor, I have a right to thank him ; and I will 
answer for it that his help has not been bestowed on 
an unworthy object.” 

Count Diisterloh laughed astutely. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, “ dear Hildegard, 
for not having placed perfect trust in your judgment 
in this point. I, of course, have every confidence in 
your experience and perception ; but what does a 
lady know of a young man’s life? What can she 
know of it? So I was afraid to rely upon a woman’s 
decision in such a case; and, as I had particular 
reasons for desiring to know more about our friend 
Dietrich, I sent my steward.” 

“Then I was not mistaken,” cried Hildegard. 

“ No,” replied the Count, smiling. “ The old man 
is well known here ; and, besides, he always fulfils 
such commissions admirably. So he made inquiry ; 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


287 


and I need only tell you that you were perfectly right 
in your estimation of Dietrich von Loben. Every- 
thing showed that he was not unworthy of your 
championship. Herz, the banker, is an old friend of 
mine, and did me the favor of playing the part I 
assigned him; but, remember, you have promised 
not to betray me.'’ 

Hildegard nodded. 

And now," he said, “ tell me the contents of the 
letter which, I see, I interrupted." 

Hildegard complied. But how much more potent 
is the spoken than the written word ! Deeply was 
the Count touched at her description of recent events ; 
and she herself seemed to live over, as she spoke, all 
the heartache and all the pain, relieved by traits of 
childish affection, fraternal self-sacrifice, and grow- 
ing force and nobleness of nature. When she had 
finished, the Count said, — 

will not praise you, Hildegard; that which we 
do from good feeling does not require the spur of 
praise ; but I will blame you. For the first time in 
your life you have egotistically forgotten your friend. 
You know why I did not before offer you a home in 
my house ; now, with all my heart, I do offer it both 
to you and to the children. You have awakened in 
me a lively interest in them ; you have drawn me on, 
step by step, into your new life, and now I beg for 
my share of responsibility in the fate and fortunes of 
these children who have grown so dear to me." 

Hildegard looked at him, surprised at first, but 
then, with a saddened manner, — 


288 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


** Alas !” she said, '' I have only enough to start 
them on the way ; the rest of the journey they must 
make for themselves ; but, if the rich Count Diisterloh 
become their protector, there is danger that in the 
consciousness of such a guardian they will forget 
their own reduced circumstances, and return to their 
old ways again.” 

You mistake me, Hildegard,” he answered ; my 
property has nothing to do with this matter, for, as 
you know, it is entailed. I simply offer the aid of 
my experience, and will only give such assistance as 
you require. I have purchased from Aunt Ludovika 
the estate of Lobenau.” 

‘‘ Ah !” exclaimed Hildegard, with brightening eyes. 

It has been ill managed ; he to whom I give it, 
either before or after my death, will have plenty to 
do to bring it back to proper condition. It will re- 
quire labor. I have a most admirable overseer, and 
thought of proposing to Dietrich to continue his 
studies under his direction. I will not interfere with 
the generous .plan dictated by brotherly affection. 
Let them help each other and themselves ; I will 
stand aside ; and, when aid is needed which you 
cannot furnish, then I will be ready, first with advice, 
and, if necessary, with something more substantial. 
Hildegard,” he continued, more gravely, — and his 
tone grew almost reproachful, — “ the goods of this 
world are one of God’s gifts, and it is our duty not 
to despise, but to make good use of them. Their 
real value is the same in all ages ; over-estimation 
of them is one of the fashionable crimes which goes 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


289 


hand in hand with the exaggerated and absurd 
thoughts, opinions, and requirements that are the dis- 
tinguishing traits of modern society. You know my 
house, my life, myself ; am I a votary of fashion ?’* 

She smiled, and declared herself vanquished, but 
said, almost hesitatingly, — 

‘‘ Dietrich and Joachim are no longer children. 
Gratitude is not a degrading feeling, but still one 
feels a natural hesitancy at being under obligations 
to a stranger. They do not look on me as such ; 
but you She paused. 

“ Perhaps I can relieve your mind on this point 
also. Will you introduce me to your proteges?'^ 

Hildegard rose, and they went to seek the orphans. 

‘‘ My old and valued friend Count Diisterloh,” said 
Hildegard, as she entered, presenting him to each of 
the children in turn. 

“ The picture ! the picture !” whispered Bertha, 
grasping Hildegard’s hand convulsively; but she 
did not comprehend her. 

When Arthur had made his best bow, and Clar- 
chen had given her little hand to the old man, he 
said, simply, — 

Children, I am your uncle, the brother of your 
grandmother.” 

“ I knew it !” cried Bertha, throwing herself into 
his open arms. 

Hildegard was as surprised and as delighted as the 
young girl herself. 

‘‘ By your means,” said the Count, turning towards 
her, ‘‘ a heavy shadow has been lifted from my 

25 


N 


290 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


life. Mutual injustice and mutual rancor are lost in 
love.’' 

The orphans felt as though they had found a father. 
The earth lay on the hearts that had loved them so 
dearly, and now in this stranger-relation came one 
to take the vacant place. The feeling that the same 
blood flows in the veins makes a great difference; 
it banishes all idea of strangeness, and gives, from 
the very beginning, a sympathy that otherwise would 
probably be the result only of long acquaintance. 
Besides, the Count, with all his dignity, had some- 
thing about him which inspired confidence. In half 
an hour he was as much at home with his nephews 
and nieces as if he had known them all their lives ; 
and the sorrow that still lingered amidst their joy 
ripened still more quickly the fruit of mutual affec- 
tion. Just in the midst of this family scene Aunt 
Schonau entered. 

‘‘ For pity’s sake, hold your tongues, and don’t all 
speak at once,” she said, as each one rushed forward 
to tell the news. 

The gratitude was deep and sincere. They all 
insisted on knowing what part Hildegard had borne 
in bringing about this joyful meeting, and Bertha 
went to get the picture. 

Which you confiscated ?” asked the Count, laugh- 
ing. 

Hildegard now readily recognized the well-known 
features, and only wondered how she could have been 
so blind. 

“ I knew it by the expression, and by the eyes,” 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


291 

said Bertha, triumphantly, and with a trace of her 
old vivacity. 

“ I imagine from your recognition that we must be 
kindred spirits,” said the Count, smiling ; so I want 
to know if you will not be my daughter. I think I 
have heard,” and he cast a laughing glance at the 
young girl, ‘‘ that old men like to have young girls 
for pets ; will you be mine ?” 

Bertha’s eyes lighted up; but, putting her arm 
around Hildegard, she said, resolutely, — 

“ No one wanted me, and she took me ; I cannot 
part from her. And, besides,” she continued, with 
something of her old bitterness, “ I will be no one’s 
pet. It is to play the part of a lapdog, who is thrust 
aside when he is not as amusing and as frolicsome as 
usual.” 

The Count, as well as Hildegard, understood the 
thought that dictated the remark. 

Well, as my request is rejected, I must turn my 
wishes elsewhere,” said the Count, stroking Bertha’s 
dark hair, as she kissed his hand tenderly, as if to 
apologize for the refusal. Then, will you all be my 
wards, except Dietrich, who no longer requires a 
guardian, and who perhaps will accept me as an old 
and experienced friend ? If so, as your guardian I 
have the right to settle your future place of residence^ 
— that is, if I can gain the consent of your best and 
truest friend,” pointing to Hildegard; then, turning 
to Bertha, he continued, ‘‘ Will you come, if she 
bring you, and if your home be that of your bro- 
thers and sisters also ?” 


292 


IT IS THE FASHION, 


The reply was a many-voiced and yet a silent one. 
Happy tears and smiles answered him. In the hearts 
and in the faces of the children was such a struggle 
as is seen after a night of storm, the clouds melting 
away in transparent whiteness, and there, where a 
spot of azure is peeping through, a star of hope 
beaming amidst the darkness. 

The God of old still reigns !” said Frau von 
Schonau. Children, live to his honor !” 

And so it was all arranged. Not to the little house 
in town, but to Count Diisterloh’s castle, did Hilde- 
gard go with her charges, and there they found a 
new and a happy home, — the little ones a protection 
from the swelling waves ; the older ones, who were 
now to put to sea, a safe harbor. The noble nature 
of their uncle, Hildegard’s strong common sense and 
kindly heart, their own stormy experiences, with 
their happy results, — these are the beacons that show 
them the right path and save them from shipwreck, 
by casting their truthful light upon the cliffs and 
whirlpools of life*, the shallows of vapid aspirations, 
the quicksands of exaggerated, unfounded preten- 
sions, and of pitiful, egotistical struggles; in short, 
upon the whole wretched “ humbug’' of fashionable 
life. 

Let us sink in darkness these unreasonable weak- 
nesses. Away with vanity and worldliness, mere- 
tricious show and hollow pleasures ! Down with the 
lofty, ill-built, highly-varnished dwellings ! On the 
firm and time-honored old foundations, let us raise 
in their place tlie Horne (the centre of womanly 


IT IS THE FASHION. 


293 


duty and manly happiness, the holy temple of peace 
to all those who cross its threshold), as a symbol of 
the home that awaits us all, the “ house not made 
with hands.” Let that love which is the only true 
leveler reign in the hearts of its members, and it 
will stand firm through prosperity and adversit}^, 
while past it sweeps the motley masquerade of 
changing Fashion ! 


THE END. 


as* 


























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Si. 25. 

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